J.  W.  (WATT)  GIBSON. 


RECOLLECTIONS 
of  a  PIONEER 


BY 

J.  W.  (WATT)  GIBSON 


\  V 


Press  of  Nelson-Hanne  Printing  Co. 

107  South  Third  Street 

St.  Joseph,  Mo. 


Bancroft  Library 


FOREWORD. 

The  following  pages  are  entirely  from  memory.  I 
kept  no  notes  or  other  record  of  the  events  I  have  at- 
tempted to  relate,  but  I  am  sure  my  memory  has  not 
often  deceived  me.  My  early  responsibilities  compelled 
me  to  give  close  attention  to  the  things  which  transpired 
about  me  and  thus  fixed  them  permanently  in  my 
mind.  In  fact,  most  of  the  experiences  which  I  have 
•attempted  to  relate  were  of  such  personal  consequence 
that  I  was  compelled  to  be  alert  and  to  know  what  was 
passing. 

I  undertook  the  present  task  at  the  solicitation  of 
many  friends  and  acquaintances  who  urged  that  my 
recollections  of  a  period,  now  fast  passing  out  of  per- 
sonal memory,  ought  to  be  preserved.  It  is  probable 
that  I  have  made  a  good  many  errors,  especially,  in 
my  attempts  to  locate  places  and  to  give  distances,  but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  we  had  no  maps  or  charts 
with  us  on  the  plains  and  that  but  few  state  lines  or 
other  sub-divisions  were  in  existence.  The  location  of 
the  places  where  events  occurred  with  reference  to 
present  geographical  lines  has  been  my  most  difficult 
task. 

J.  W.  (WATT)  GIBSON. 

St.  Joseph,  Mo.,  August  15,  1912. 


CHAPTER  I. 
Early  Days  in  Buchanan  County. 

I  was  born  in  Bartow  County,  Georgia,  on  the 
22nd  day  of  January,  1829.  Sometime  during  my  in- 
fancy, and  at  a  period  too  early  to  be  remembered,  my 
father  and  his  family  moved  to  East  Tennessee,  where 
we  lived  until  I  was  ten  years  old.  About  this  time  re- 
ports concerning  the  Platte  Purchase  and  its  splendid 
farming  land  began  to  reach  us.  I  do  not  now  recall 
the  exact  channel  through  which  these  reports  came, 
but  I  think  some  of  our  relatives  had  gone  there  and 
had  written  back  urging  us  to  come.  My  father  final- 
ly yielded  and  in  the  spring  of  1839  sold  his  Tennessee 
farm  and  prepared  for  the  long  journey  overland.  I 
was  old  enough  at  the  time  to  take  some  note  of  what 
passed,  and  I  remember  that  my  father  received  four 
thousand  dollars  for  his  land  in  Indiana  "shin  plas- 
ters." I  recall  also  the  preparations  that  were  made 
for  the  journey — the  outfitting  of  the  wagons,  gathering 
the  stock  together,  and  most  important  of  all,  the  part 
assigned  to  me.  I  was  provided  with  a  pony,  saddle 
and  bridle  and  given  charge  of  a  herd  of  loose  cattle 
and  horses.  We  had  a  rude  camp  outfit  and  car- 
ried along  with  us  all  the  household  plunder  with  which 
we  expected  to  start  life  in  the  new  country.  As  may 
be  well  imagined,  there  was  not  a  great  deal  of  it, 
although  the  family  was  large.  In  those  days  the  peo- 
ple had  to  be  satisfied  with  the  barest  necessities. 
Some  idea  of  the  extent  of  this  part  of  my  father's 
worldly  property  may  be  given  by  saying  that  the 
entire  outfit,  including  camp  equipment,  was  loaded 
into  two  wagons. 


6  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

I  shall  never  forget  the  morning  we  started. 
Everything  had  been  loaded  the  day  before,  ex- 
cept the  articles  necessary  to  the  sojourn  over  night. 
We  were  up  bright  and  early,  had  breakfast  in  little 
better  than  camp  style,  and  were  off  before  sun  up. 
My  father,  mother,  and  the  younger  children  took  the 
first  wagon,  and  one  of  my  brothers  and  my  sisters  the 
second.  I  was  upon  my  pony  and  in  my  glory.  The 
wagons  moved  forward  and  I  rounded  up  the  cattle 
and  horses  and  forced  them  along  after  the  wagons. 
I  was  too  young  to  feel  any  tender  sentiment  toward 
the  old  home  or  to  appreciate  the  fact  that  I  was  leav- 
ing it  forever,  but  I  remember  that  my  father  and 
mother  often  looked  back,  and  as  we  passed  over  the 
hill  out  of  sight,  I  saw  them  turn  and  wave  a  long 
farewell.  Many  times  since  I  have  thought  of  that 
scene  and  have  learned  to  know  full  well  its  meaning 
to  my  father  and  mother. 

I  cannot  recall  all  the  particulars  of  this  toilsome 
journey,  and  if  I  could,  they  would  hardly  interest  the 
reader.  I  remember  that  I  soon  lost  the  enthusiasm 
of  that  early  morning  on  which  we  started  and  grew 
very  tired  and  longed  for  the  end  of  our  journey. 
For  a  great  many  days  it  seemed  to  me  we  traveled 
through  a  rugged  mountain  country.  The  hills  were 
long  and  toilsome,  the  streams  had  no  bridges  and 
had  to  be  forded,  and  I  frequently  had  great  difficulty 
in  getting  my  cattle  and  horses  to  follow  the  wagons. 
On  such  occasions,  the  caravan  would  stop  and 
the  whole  family  would  come  to  my  aid.  Of 
course,  there  were  no  fences  along  the  sides  of  the 
road  and  my  stock  becoming  wearied  or  tempted  by 
the  green  herbage  alongside  would  wander  out  into 
the  woods  and  brush  and  give  me  much  trouble. 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  BUCHANAN  COUNTY  7 

When  I  think  of  these  difficulties,  I  do  not  wonder 
that  I  became  wearied,  but  as  my  life  was  afterwards 
ordered,  this  boyish  experience  taught  me  a  lesson 
which  many  times  proved  useful. 

I  remember  when  we  crossed  what  they  said  was 
the  line  into  Kentucky.  I  could  see  no  difference  in 
the  mountains,  valleys  or  the  rivers,  but  somehow 
I  felt  that  there  ought  to  be  a  difference  and  that  Ken- 
tucky could  not  be  like  Tennessee,  and  yet  it  was. 
Here  I  learned,  thus  early  in  life,  what  so  many 
people  find  it  hard  even  in  later  years  to  appreciate, 
that  names  and  distances  do  not  make  differences  and 
that  all  places  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  no  matter 
how  they  vary  in  physical  appearance,  are  after  all 
very  much  alike.  I  believe  it  is  the  realization  of  this 
fact  that  makes  the  difference  between  the  man  who 
knows  the  world  and  the  one  who  does  not.  After 
a  long  time,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  we  passed  out  of  the 
mountains  and  into  a  beautiful  rolling  country  improv- 
ed even  in  that  early  day  with  many  turnpikes  and 
exhibiting  every  indication  of  prosperity.  There  were 
negroes  everywhere — many  more  than  we  had  in  Ten- 
nessee, and  I  remember  hearing  them  singing  as  they 
worked  in  the  fields.  I  now  know  that  this  country 
was  what  has  since  been  known  as  the  "Blue  Grass 
Region"  of  Kentucky,  though  at  the  time,  I  thought 
the  mountains  of  my  old  home  a  much  better  place 
to  live. 

For  a  long  time,  even  before  the  journey  began, 
I  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  the  Ohio  River  and 
knew  that  we  must  cross  it,  and  when  the  people  along 
the  road  began  to  tell  us  that  we  were  nearing  that 
stream,  I  became  filled  with  curiosity  to  see  it  and  to 
know  what  it  would  be  like  and  to  see  and  experi- 


8  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

ence  the  sensation  of  crossing  it  on  a  ferry-boat.  Fi- 
nally we  came  to  the  top  of  a  long  hill  and  away  off 
to  the  north  we  saw  the  river  winding  through  a  deep 
valley,  and  some  one,  my  father,  I  think,  pointed  out 
a  mere  speck  on  the  surface  of  the  water  and  told  us 
it  was  a  ferry-boat.  When  we  reached  the  bank  of 
the  river  we  found  the  boat  tied  alongside,  and  to  my 
surprise,  horses,  wagons  and  cattle  were  all  driven 
upon  it.  I  had  no  idea  that  a  ferry-boat  was  such  a 
huge  affair.  It  was  run  by  horse-power,  and  it 
took  us  only  a  few  minutes  to  reach  the  farther 
shore,  and  I  was  disappointed  that  my  trip  was  not  a 
longer  one.  The  landing  and  unloading  took  but  a 
few  minutes.  My  father  paid  the  man  and  we  started 
immediately  to  climb  the  hill  on  the  other  side.  I 
must  not  neglect  to  mention  that  somewhere  on  the 
road  in  the  northern  part  of  Kentucky  or  immediately 
after  we  crossed  the  river,  my  father  exchanged  the 
"shin  plasters"  for  which  he  had  sold  his  farm  for  sil- 
ver, that  currency  being  at  par  in  that  locality.  He  re- 
ceived four  thousand  silver  dollars.  I  saw  them  with 
my  own  eyes.  He  put  them  in  a  strong  box  and  load- 
ed them  into  one  of  the  wagons  along  with  the  other 
luggage. 

I  do  not  remember  at  what  point  we  crossed  the 
Ohio  River.  I  did  not,  of  course,  know  at  the  time,  and 
if  my  father  or  any  member  of  the  family  ever  told  me 
the  place  afterwards  I  have  forgotten  it;  but  the  event 
is  as  vivid  in  my  mind  as  if  it  had  occurred  yesterday. 

There  was  little  in  our  journey  across  Indiana 
and  Illinois  to  impress  that  portion  of  the  road  upon 
my  memory.  All  I  recall  is  in  a  general  way  that  I 
could  see  no  familiar  mountains,  and  over  parts  of  the 
journey  I  remember  that  the  country  appeared  to  me 
to  be  monotonously  level.  I  cannot  give  the  length  of 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  BUCHANAN  COUNTY  9 

time  that  was  required  in  making  this  journey,  but 
I  do  remember  when  we  reached  the  Mississippi 
River.  We  crossed  at  Alton,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
and  in  place  of  a  horse  ferry  we  had  a  steam  ferry, 
which  was  to  me  a  much  more  wonderful  contrivance 
than  the  horse  ferry  on  the  Ohio.  Then  the  river  was 
so  much  wider.  I  remember  wondering  where  all  that 
vast  body  of  water  could  come  from.  They  told  us, 
when  we  landed  on  the  opposite  shore,  that  we  were 
in  Missouri,  and  I  thought  my  journey  must  be  nearly 
ended,  but  I  was  never  more  mistaken.  Day  after  day 
our  wagons  trundled  along,  night  after  night  we  went 
into  camp,  worn  out  with  the  day's  journey,  only  to 
get  up  again  early  in  the  morning  and  repeat  the  same 
experience. 

We  reached  Tremont  Township,  Buchanan  Coun- 
ty, on  the  29th  day  of  May,  1839,  and  straightway  set- 
tled upon  a  tract  of  land  about  a  mile  and  a  quarter 
southeast  of  what  is  now  Garrettsburg.  A  house  of 
some  character  was  the  first  thing  to  which  my  father 
turned  his  attention,  and  it  was  not  long  before  a  rude 
log  cabin  was  under  construction.  I  was  too  small 
to  take  much  part  in  this  work,  but  I  remember  that 
such  neighbors  as  we  had  were  good  to  us  and  came 
and  helped.  The  logs  were  cut  in  the  woods  and  drag- 
ged to  the  site  of  the  house  and  the  neighbors  and 
friends  came  and  helped  us  at  the  "raising."  The 
house  consisted  of  a  single  room  with  a  wide  fireplace 
built  of  rough  stone  extending  nearly  across  one  en- 
tire end  of  the  room.  The  roof  was  of  long  split  boards 
laid  upon  poles  or  beams  in  such  a  way  as  to  shed  the 
water  and  weighted  down  by  other  beams  laid  on  top 
of  them.  I  do  not  think  a  single  nail  or  other  piece  of 
iron  entered  into  the  construction  of  the  building,  but 
we  thought  it  a  great  improvement  upon  the  tent  life 


10  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

we  had  experienced  on  our  journey,  and  my  father 
was  quite  proud  of  his  new  home.  I  will  not  attempt 
to  describe  that  country  as  it  appeared  to  me  in  that 
early  day.  In  fact  the  changes  have  been  so  gradual 
that  it  seems  to  me  to  be  still  very  much  the  same 
country  it  was  when  I  first  saw  it,  though  when  I  stop 
to  reflect,  I  know  that  this  is  not  so.  Most  of  it  was 
heavy  timber.  A  glade  or  skirt  of  prairie  passed  in  now 
and  then  from  the  almost  continuous  prairie  of  what  is 
now  Clinton  County.  And  I  remember  distinctly  that 
a  stretch  of  prairie  extended  from  Platte  River  direct- 
ly across  from  where  Agency  is  now  located  in  an  east 
and  south  easterly  direction  toward  Gower,  and  thence 
around  to  the  left  where  it  joined  the  main  body  of 
prairie  land.  There  were  no  fences  to  speak  of,  and 
deer  were  as  plentiful  as  in  any  country  I  have  ever 
seen.  There  were  few  roads  and  no  great  need  for 
them  and  no  bridges.  The  county  seat  of  the  county 
was  at  old  Sparta,  and  Robidoux's  Landing  was  the 
most  talked  of  place  in  the  county. 

In  1846,  my  father  built  a  brick  house,  the  first, 
I  think,  that  was  ever  erected  in  the  county.  It  stood 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  south  of  the  present  resi- 
dence of  Thomas  Barton,  a  respected  citizen  of  Tre- 
mont  Township.  The  brick  were  made  upon  the  ground 
and  I  was  old  enough  at  that  time  to  have  quite  an 
important  part  in  the  work,  and  it  was  hard  work,  too. 
I  helped  cut  and  haul  wood  with  which  the  brick  were 
burned,  and  I  "off  bore"  the  brick  as  they  were  mould- 
ed. I  carried  the  brick  and  mortar  as  the  house  was 
being  erected  and  assisted  in  putting  on  the  roof,  lay- 
ing floors  and  finishing  the  house.  It  was  quite  a 
commodious  structure  when  completed  and  was  con- 
sidered by  all  our  neighbors  and  friends  who  still  lived 
in  their  log  houses  as  quite  a  mansion. 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  BUCHANAN  COUNTY  11 

Our  farming  operations  were  not  very  extensive. 
The  land  all  had  to  be  cleared  of  heavy  timber,  and  I 
have  seen  thousands  of  feet  of  the  finest  white  oak, 
walnut  and  hickory  burned  up  in  log  heaps,  but  there 
was  nothing  else  to  be  done  with  it.  We  had  to  have 
the  land  and  there  was  no  use  to  which  we  could  put 
such  a  quantity  of  timber.  The  few  rails  that  were 
needed  to  fence  the  field  after  it  was  cleared,  required 
only  a  small  portion  of  the  timber  that  was  cut  away, 
and  as  all  the  land  except  the  fields  was  allowed  to 
remain  unfenced,  there  could  be  no  profit  in  expend- 
ing time  and  labor  in  making  rails  to  be  piled  up  and 
allowed  to  decay. 

Most  of  our  work  was  done  on  the  farm  with  ox 
teams.  Our  plows  were  rude,  home-made  implements, 
and  the  hoe,  axe  and  sickle,  or  reaping  hook,  all  home- 
made, were  about  the  only  other  tools  we  had.  With 
these  and  with  our  slow  plodding  oxen,  we  thought 
we  did  very  well  to  produce  from  our  stumpy  ground 
enough  for  the  family  to  subsist  on.  Even  the  accom- 
plishment of  this  small  result  required  the  efforts  of 
almost  every  member  of  the  family.  My  mother  and 
sisters  frequently  worked  in  the  fields,  and  I  often 
saw,  in  those  days,  a  woman  plowing  in  the  field,  driv- 
ing a  single  cow,  using  a  rude  harness  without  a  collar. 
We  cut  our  wheat  with  a  sickle  and  our  hemp  with  a 
hook.  We  hackled  the  flax  by  hand  and  spun  and  wove 
it  into  linen.  My  mother  and  sisters  sheared  the  sheep, 
washed  and  picked  the  wool,  carded,  spun  and  wove 
it  into  blankets  and  clothing  for  the  whole  family. 
They  took  the  raw  material,  green  flax  and  wool 
on  the  sheep's  back,  and  made  it  into  clothing 
for  a  family  of  ten.  They  milked  the  cows  and  wash- 
ed the  clothing  besides,  and  then  found  time  to  help 
in  the  fields.  It  must  not  be  thought  that  the  men 


12  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

were  idle  while  this  was  going  on.  They  worked  just 
as  hard,  but  their  tools  were  so  poor  and  the  diffi- 
culties so  great,  and  they  could  accomplish  so  little 
that  even  with  all  their  efforts  they  sometimes  fell 
behind  the  women  in  their  tasks. 

As  may  well  be  imagined,  there  was  little  time 
for  a  boy  or  a  girl  under  those  conditions  to  go  to 
school,  even  if  the  opportunity  had  presented  itself. 
We  had  a  school  in  the  neighborhood,  however,  held 
for  a  time  at  the  homes  of  various  members  of  the 
community,  and  later  we  built  a  school  house.  The 
erection  of  this  building  was  the  first  public  enterprise, 
so  far  as  I  know  or  have  ever  heard,  that  was  under- 
taken by  the  people  of  that  community.  I  was  old 
enough  to  help  in  it,  and  I  remember  very  distinctly 
the  meetings  the  neighbors  had  to  plan  the  work  of 
building,  and  afterwards,  I  recall  the  meeting  of  the 
men  with  their  teams  to  do  the  work.  Each  man  fur- 
nished two  logs  which  he  had  previously  cut  and  hew- 
ed to  the  proper  dimensions.  These  he  dragged  to 
the  site  selected  for  the  building  which  was,  by  the 
way,  upon  the  ground  now  occupied  by  the  Stamper 
School  House.  When  the  logs  were  all  assembled,  the 
men  and  boys  came  in  bringing  baskets  of  provisions 
and  food  for  their  oxen  and  all  went  to  work.  The 
house  was  "raised,"  as  we  called  it,  by  laying  the  logs 
one  upon  the  other  in  the  form  of  a  pen,  the  length 
exceeding  the  breadth  by  about  ten  feet.  The  logs 
were  carefully  notched  and  fitted  down  at  the  corners 
so  as  to  eliminate  space  between  them  and  do  away 
with  the  necessity  of  "chinking"  to  as  great  an  extent 
as  possible.  The  floor  was  of  logs  split  half  in  two 
and  laid  the  flat  side  up.  The  door  was  of  hewed 
timber  and  must  have  been  fully  two  inches  thick, 
and  was  hung  upon  wooden  hinges.  At  a  proper 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  BUCHANAN  COUNTY  13 

height  from  the  ground,  one  log  was  sawed  out  the 
full  length  of  the  building  to  afford  light.  The  roof 
was  of  clap-boards  with  logs  laid  upon  them  to  hold 
them  in  place.  The  benches  were  puncheon — that  is 
a  long  round  log  split  half  in  two  and  hewed  to  a 
smooth  surface  with  legs  driven  into  auger  holes  be- 
neath. The  fireplace  extended  nearly  all  the  way 
across  one  end  of  the  room.  It  was  built  of  rough 
stone  as  high  as  the  mantel,  and  from  there  up  the 
chimney  was  of  sticks,  plastered  inside  with  clay  to 
keep  them  from  burning.  A  long  puncheon  was  plac- 
ed at  the  proper  angle  just  underneath  the  opening 
which  served  as  a  window,  and  this  constituted  our 
writing  desk.  When  the  writing  lesson  was  called, 
each  pupil  took  his  copy  book  and  went  to  this  rude 
"desk"  where  he  stood  until  his  lesson  was  finished. 
I  cannot  at  this  time  recall  the  names  of  all  the 
men  who  participated  in  the  work  of  building  that 
school-house,  but  among  them  were  George  Reynolds, 
George  Jeffers,  Donald  McCray,  Philip  McCray,  Henry 
Guinn,  Ambrose  McDonald,  William  Bledsoe,  Robert 
Irvin,  James  Poteet,  James  Gilmore,  Ransom  Ridge, 
Bird  Smith,  Isaac  Auxier,  Tom  Auxier,  my  father, 
George  Gibson,  and  my  uncle,  James  Gibson.  Most  of 
these  names  are  familiar  to  the  citizens  of  this  county, 
and  their  descendants  are  still  substantial  citizens  of 
that  community.  I  had  the  inestimable  privilege  of 
attending  school  in  this  building  as  much  as  three 
terms  of  three  months  each,  and  this  constituted  my 
entire  educational  course  so  far  as  schools  are  con- 
cerned. The  sons  and  daughters  of  the  men  I  have 
named  were  my  school  mates  and,  at  this  writing,  but 
few  of  them  survive.  The  men  of  that  day,  of  course, 
have  all  passed  to  their  reward  many  years  since. 


14  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

It  will  be  easy  for  the  reader  to  understand  me 
when  I  say  that  in  that  day  money,  that  is  currency 
or  specie,  was  very  hard  to  procure.  Fortunately  for 
us  we  needed  very  little  of  it,  because  there  was  noth- 
ing to  buy  with  it  that  we  could  not  procure  by  a  sort 
of  trade  or  barter.  We  could  raise  our  horses,  hogs 
and  cattle,  but  there  was  no  market  for  them.  If  a 
neighbor  happened  not  to  have  what  another  neighbor 
had  beyond  his  own  necessities,  some  means  was  de- 
vised by  which  a  trade  could  be  entered  into  and  each 
secure  thereby  the  things  he  did  not  previously  own. 
I  think  hemp  was  about  the  only  thing  we  could  sell 
for  money.  This  we  took  to  Robidoux's  landing  now 
and  then  where  we  procured  cash  for  it,  and  we  then, 
bought  such  few  necessities  as  our  farms  did  not  af- 
ford. 

It  must  not  be  understood  that  the  men  of  that 
day  were  without  enterprise.  When  I  look  upon  the 
great  undertakings  of  the  present  day  and  then  recall 
a  venture  which  my  father  and  older  brothers  and 
myself  undertook  in  1847,  I  am  compelled  to  believe 
that  of  the  two,  that  early  enterprise  required  the 
greater  business  courage.  I  have  related  how  my  father 
received  four  thousand  dollars  for  his  Tennessee  farm 
and  how  he  converted  this  into  silver  on  the  way  to 
Missouri.  He  had  in  addition  to  this  quite  a  sum  of 
money  besides  and  had  accumulated  some  money  dur- 
ing the  years  of  his  residence  here. 

In  the  spring  of  1847  he  began  to  purchase  from 
the  neighbors  around  about  and  from  the  men  in  other 
communities,  their  surplus  cattle,  and  in  this  way  col- 
lected a  herd  of  five  hundred.  These  cattle  were  driven 
overland  to  Iowa  where  a  few  of  them  were  sold, 
thence  on  to  Illinois  and  across  Illinois  and  through 
Indiana  and  Ohio,  peddling  them  out  as  we  went,  and 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  BUCHANAN  COUNTY  15 

into  Pennsylvania,  where  the  last  of  them  were  sold. 
I  went  along,  and  we  had  many  hardships,  but  some- 
how I  did  not  think  so  at  the  time.  The  trip  broke 
the  monotony  of  my  life  upon  the  farm  and  I  was  glad 
to  go,  even  though  I  often  grew  very  tired  and  had  to 
endure  the  exposure  to  hot  sun,  wind  and  rain.  We 
made  some  money  on  the  cattle — quite  a  good  deal. 
We  got  every  dollar  of  it  in  silver  and  carried  it  home 
on  horse  back.  In  1848,  brother  Isaac  and  I  took 
another  drove  over  about  the  same  route  for  Peter 
Boyer,  who  lived  near  Easton.  Our  experiences  on 
this  trip  were  very  much  the  same  as  those  of  the 
former  trip,  and  the  enterprise  netted  Boyer  a  hand- 
some profit. 


CHAPTER  II. 
First  Trip  to  California. 

Late  in  the  year  1848  or  early  in  '49,  we  began  to 
hear  wonderful  stories  about  gold  in  California.  News 
traveled  very  slowly  in  those  days,  and  we  could  de- 
pend very  little  upon  its  accuracy,  but  the  reports  that 
came  convinced  us  that  the  discovery  had  actually 
been  made  and  we  readily  pictured  in  our  own  minds 
the  fortunes  to  be  had  in  that  country.  Difficult  as 
the  methods  of  travel  were  in  those  days,  we  were  not 
without  information  as  to  the  route  and  character  of  the 
country  intervening  between  us  and  California.  Rob- 
ert Gilmore,  a  neighbor  of  ours,  had  been  overland 
to  Oregon  and  back,  and  could  tell  us  very  definitely 
about  the  country  out  to  a  point  beyond  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  The  talk  of  gold,  and  of  an  expedition  to 
the  country  where  it  had  been  found,  soon  became 
general  and  it  was  not  long  until  a  party  of  men  was 
made  up  to  try  their  fortunes  in  California.  Brother 
William,  brother  James  and  myself  agreed  to  become 
members  of  the  party,  and  we  rigged  up  a  wagon  and 
four  yoke  of  oxen,  laid  in  a  year's  provisions,  provid- 
ed ourselves  with  guns  and  plenty  of  ammunition  and 
joined  others  of  a  company  who  had  made  like 
provision.  I  must  not  neglect  to  mention  that 
as  an  important  part  of  our  commissary  we  ad- 
ded a  half  barrel  of  good  whiskey.  We  started  on  the 
first  day  of  May  and  stopped  over  night  at  St.  Joseph. 
The  next  day,  everything  being  ready,  we  crossed  the 
river  on  the  ferry  boat  and  pitched  our  tents  the  first 
night  out  on  Peters  Creek.  Our  party  consisted  of 
twenty  men  and  boys,  all  from  Buchanan  County. 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  17 

They  were  Robert  Gilmore  and  his  son  Mat,  James 
Gilmore  and  his  son  Dave,  Ben  Poteet,  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Spires  and  his  son,  Milt  Gilmore,  Lum  Per- 
kins, a  man  by  the  name  of  Fish,  Charles  McCray, 
Henry  McCray,  Liel  Hulett,  Mitch  Hulett,  old  man 
Greenwood  and  his  two  sons,  Brother  William,  Brother 
James,  and  myself.  We  had  seven  wagons,  fifty-eight 
head  of  cattle  and  seven  horses. 

Robert  Gilmore  was  our  pilot.  His  previous  jour- 
ney over  the  road  as  well  as  his  peculiar  fitness  for 
the  task  made  the  selection  of  any  other  person  out 
of  the  question.  He  had  an  accurate  memory  con- 
cerning every  point  along  the  road.  He  knew  the  cour- 
ses of  the  rivers  and  how  to  cross  the  desert  divides 
at  the  narrowest  places  to  avoid  long  distances  with- 
out grazing  and  water  for  our  cattle.  He  also  knew 
better  than  any  of  us  the  habits  of  the  Indians,  and  his 
experience  with  them  often  avoided  trouble  and  saved 
our  property  and  most  likely  our  lives.  He  was  cool- 
headed  and  prudent  and  as  brave  a  man  as  I  ever 
knew.  It  must  be  remembered  that  we  made  no  pro- 
vision whatever  to  feed  our  cattle  and  horses.  We 
expected  to  move  slowly  and  allow  them  time  to  graze 
for  subsistence.  During  the  first  part  of  the  journey 
at  the  season  of  the  year  in  which  it  was  made,  we 
experienced  no  trouble  whatever,  as  grass  was  very 
plentiful,  but  later  on,  as  I  shall  relate,  we  often  felt 
sorry  for  the  poor  dumb  beasts  that  we  had  taken 
from  the  fine  pastures  of  Buchanan  County  and  driven 
out  into  that  arid  country. 

Our  second  day's  journey  brought  us  to  Wolf 
River.  During  the  next  few  days  our  journey  led 
us  by  gradual  ascent  up  on  to  a  high  prairie,  which 
must  have  been  the  water  shed  upon  which  the  town 
of  Sabetha  is  now  situated.  The  whole  earth  was 


18  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

covered  by  abundant  verdure,  and  I  recall  very  dis- 
tinctly the  expansive  view  which  presented  itself  in 
every  direction  from  the  crests  of  the  ridges  as  we 
passed  over  them.  There  was  not  a  single  human 
habitation  in  sight  and  no  evidences  that  human  foot 
had  ever  been  set  upon  this  land,  except  the  dim  out- 
line of  the  trail  we  were  following.  Only  one  or  two 
companies  were  ahead  of  us  and  the  tracks  of  their 
wagons  and  oxen  made  but  little  impression  upon  the 
fresh  grown  grass.  -Farther  out  the  almost  total  ab- 
sence of  trees  made  the  most  vivid  impression  upon 
my  mind,  accustomed  as  I  had  been  for  so  many  years 
to  a  timbered  country,  and  though  I  could  see  no  evi- 
dences that  the  soil  was  not  productive,  I  could  hardly 
believe  this  place  would  ever  be  a  fit  habitation  for 
men.  We  traveled  some  days  over  such  country  as  I 
have  described  and  no  doubt  passed  over  the  sites  of 
many  present  flourishing  towns.  The  sixth  or  seventh 
day  out,  if  I  remember  correctly,  we  reached  the  Big 
Blue.  In  our  journey  thus  far,  we  had  occasionally 
seen  deer  and  antelope,  but  when  we  began  to  descend 
into  the  valley  of  the  Big  Blue  we  saw  great  numbers 
of  these  animals.  On  the  banks  of  the  river  we 
found  in  camp  a  party  of  eastern  emigrants  who  had 
left  St.  Joseph  a  few  days  in  advance  of  our  train. 
Their  teams  were  all  horses  and  they  had  camped  for 
a  time  in  order  to  lay  in  a  supply  of  venison.  Their 
horses  were  then  in  fine  condition  and  they  were  rid- 
ing them  out  on  the  prairies  chasing  the  deer  and 
antelope.  We  camped  for  the  night  and  next  morn- 
ing, as  usual,  plodded  on.  Later  in  the  day  we  were 
overtaken  by  these  emigrants  who  trotted  by  us  with 
their  faster  teams  and  made  fun  of  our  equipment. 
They  told  us,  as  they  passed,  that  they  would  have  the 
gold  in  California  all  mined  out  before  we  got  there. 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  19 

Some  of  us,  the  younger  members  at  least,  who  had 
had  no  experience  on  the  plains,  felt  that  they  might 
be  telling  us  the  truth;  but  Gilmore  assured  us  that 
\ve  had  taken  the  safer  course  and  that  we  would  reach 
California  long  in  advance  of  those  men,  and  that  it 
was  doubtful  if  they  would  ever  get  there  at  all. 
Weeks  later  Gilmore  had  the  satisfaction  of  verifying 
what  he  had  told  us,  for  we  overtook  and  passed  these 
very  trains.  Their  horses  were  thin  and  poor,  starved 
out  on  the  short  grass,  and  famished  for  water. 

From  Big  Blue  we  crossed  a  rolling  divide  to  Little 
Blue  and  followed  that  stream  a  long  distance,  then 
across  a  high  prairie,  that  seemed  to  be  almost  per- 
fectly level.  It  was  on  this  part  of  the  journey  that 
we  had  our  first  disagreeable  experience.  Up  to  that 
time,  the  boys  of  the  party  at  least,  had  looked  upon 
crossing  the  plains  as  a  great  frolic.  The  weather  had 
been  fine.  The  company  was  congenial  and  the  nov- 
elty of  the  whole  thing  kept  us  well  entertained. 
Shortly  after  we  broke  camp  one  morning  and  start- 
ed on  a  twenty  mile  drive,  it  began  to  rain  and  con- 
tinued all  day  long  a  steady  downpour.  We  had  found 
no  wood  with  which  to  cook  dinner  and  had  eaten  cold 
victuals,  with  some  relish,  believing  we  would  find 
plenty  of  firewood  at  night.  We  traveled  until  quite 
late  and  finally  stopped  at  a  small  creek,  where  other 
emigrants  had  camped,  but  there  was  no  wood,  not  a 
stick  to  be  found.  The  only  thing  in  sight  was  a  tough 
old  log  which  had  been  hacked  and  hewed  by  preced- 
ing emigrants  until  scarcely  a  splinter  could  be  chop- 
ped from  it.  The  buffalo  chips  were  all  wet  and  it 
was  still  raining.  The  boys  were  not  so  gay  that  night. 
They  managed,  after  hard  work,  to  get  splinters  enough 
off  the  old  log  to  heat  up  the  coffee  and  that  was  the 
only  warm  article  of  diet  we  had  for  supper.  We  made 


20  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

the  best  of  it  and  after  supper  prepared  to  crawl  into 
wet  tents  to  sleep  if  we  could.  Bad  as  the  prospect 
was,  I  was  happy  that  it  was  not  my  turn  to  stand 
guard.  It  rained  all  night  and  next  morning  the  boys 
who  had  been  on  guard  were  sorry-looking  fellows 
and  the  cattle  and  horses  little  better.  I  do  not  re- 
member how  we  managed  to  get  breakfast,  but  I  do 
recall  that  we  started  early  and  pushed  on  still  through 
the  rain.  The  moving  warmed  us  up  and  we  were 
much  better  off  traveling  than  in  camp. 

We  reached  Platte  River  late  the  same  day  at  a 
point  which  must  have  been  some  miles  above  the 
location  of  the  present  city  of  Grand  Island, 
probably  about  the  site  of  the  City  of  Kearney. 
The  river  was  running  bank  full  and  the  only  fire  wood 
in  sight  was  on  an  island  out  in  the  stream.  The 
stream,  though  wide,  was  not  deep,  and  we  rode  our 
horses  over  and  carried  back  wood  enough  to  make  a 
fire,  though  it  was  a  very  bad  one.  It  stopped  raining 
about  night,  but  remained  cloudy  and  cold  and  we 
passed  the  night  with  less  comfort,  I  believe,  than  the 
night  before.  Next  day  we  made  only  twenty  miles 
but  stopped  long  before  night  at  the  mouth  of  a  little 
stream  or  gulch  that  descended  down  into  Platte 
River  which  we  knew  as  Plum  Creek.  The  wind  had 
blown  from  the  north  all  day  and  had  chilled  us 
through  and  through  in  our  wet  clothing.  The  princi- 
pal inducement  to  the  halt  was  the  canyon  through 
which  Plum  Creek  emptied  into  the  river.  It  afford- 
ed a  sheltered  camping  place  and  its  sides  were  cover- 
ed with  red  cedar  which  made  splendid  firewood. 
We  pitched  our  tents  in  behind  a  high  bluff  and  im- 
mediately built  a  blazing  fire.  Everybody  was  busy. 
Blankets  were  stretched  upon  poles  before  the  fire 
and  the  wet  extra  clothing  was  hung  out  to  dry  in  like 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  21 

manner.  We  cooked  the  best  meal  the  stores  would 
afford  and  prepared  plenty  of  it.  Before  night  we 
were  all  dry  and  warm,  had  had  plenty  to  eat,  and 
were  again  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind.  There  was  but 
one  thing  to  prevent  complete  satisfaction  with  the 
situation  and  that  was  that  at  this  very  point  in  years 
gone  by  several  vicious  attacks  had  been  made  upon 
emigrants  by  the  Indians.  It  was  a  fine  place  for 
the  Indians  to  ambush  the  unwary  traveler.  Gilmore 
had  learned  the  story  of  these  attacks  on  his  previous 
trip  and  immediately  after  we  had  supper  he  started 
the  members  of  the  company  out  in  various  directions 
to  look  for  Indians.  It  was  an  hour  or  more  until 
sundown,  as  I  recollect,  so  we  climbed  to  the  tops  of 
the  hills  and  inspected  the  country  for  miles  around. 
There  was  not  a  single  sign  of  Indians  anywhere  to  be 
seen.  He  told  us  to  look  particularly  for  smoke  as 
we  would  probably  not  see  the  Indians  but  would  dis- 
cover the  smoke  from  their  fires  coming  up  out  of 
the  valleys.  The  favorable  report  made  to  Gilmore 
did  not  satisfy  him.  Weary  as  we  all  were,  he  order- 
ed a  double  guard  that  night.  I  stood  with  the  boys 
the  first  half  of  the  night.  At  sundown  the  sky  had 
cleared  of  clouds  and  the  wind  had  ceased  to  blow. 
The  whole  earth  was  as  still  as  death.  The  only  sound 
that  broke  the  silence  was  the  howl  of  a  wolf  now 
and  then  away  off  in  the  distance. 

The  next  morning  the  camp  was  astir  bright  and 
early.  The  oxen  and  horses  were  rounded  up  and 
hitched  to  the  wagons  and  after  a  good  breakfast  we 
packed  the  camp  outfit  and  started  on  our  journey 
up  Platte  River,  following  the  south  bank.  The  clear 
sky  and  bright  sunshine  soon  made  us  forget  the  hard- 
ships of  the  two  previous  days,  and  our  company  was 
again  in  good  spirits.  I  have  not  been  able  to  locate 


22  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

the  exact  position  of  Plum  Creek.  It  was  out  some  dis- 
tance beyond  the  Grand  Island  and  almost  at  the  be- 
ginning of  what  we  called  the  sand  bluffs.  I  do  not 
recall  any  incident  worth  mentioning  on  the  journey  up 
this  stream  except  that  in  a  few  days  after  we  left 
Plum  Creek  we  passed  the  junction  of  the  North  and 
South  Platte.  The  trail  followed  the  South  Platte  and 
we  followed  the  trail.  About  fifty  miles  beyond  the 
junction  we  crossed  the  South  Platte  and  went  over  a 
high  ridge  and  down  a  steep  canyon  about  five  miles 
in  length  into  the  valley  of  the  North  Platte.  I  have 
never  known  why  this  early  trail  led  up  the  South 
Platte  instead  of  crossing  the  main  stream  at  the  junc- 
tion and  moving  directly  up  the  North  Platte,  as  was 
done  later  by  all  the  emigrant  trains. 

We  reached  North  Platte  about  night  and  found 
a  large  tribe  of  Indians  in  camp.  It  was  no  very  pleas- 
ing prospect  to  most  of  us  to  go  into  camp  so  near  the 
Indians,  but  Gilmore  told  us  that  we  would  not  likely 
have  any  trouble  as  Indians  were  always  peaceable 
when  their  squaws  and  pappooses  were  with  them.  I 
never  forgot  this  remark  by  Gilmore  and  had  occasion 
many  times  afterwards,  as  I  shall  relate,  to  observe 
the  truth  of  his  statement.  We  put  a  strong  guard 
around  the  cattle.  We  did  not  fear  for  ourselves,  but 
were  alarmed  somewhat  on  account  of  the  cattle,  as  we 
expected  that  the  Indians  were  probably  scarce  of 
food  and  might  try  to  get  one  or  two  of  them.  The 
Indians  seemed  to  be  astir  most  all  night  and  we  im- 
agined that  they  were  watching  to  catch  us  off  guard, 
or  probably  to  catch  a  stray  horse  or  ox  that  might 
wander  away  from  the  herd.  Morning  brought  us  great 
relief,  and  we  soon  packed  up  and  moved  on  up  the 
North  Platte  as  fast  as  we  could. 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  23 

Some  seventy-five  miles  or  more  up  the  North 
Platte  we  passed  those  strange  looking  elevations  which 
had  the  appearance  at  a  distance  of  immense  build- 
ings in  ruins  and  which  have  been  mentioned  by  so 
many  of  the  early  emigrants.  Two  of  these  formations 
which  stood  side  by  side  were  especially  noticeable. 
They  both  rose  abruptly  from  the  level  table  land  to 
a  height  of  two  hundred  feet  or  more.  The  larger 
and  taller  of  the  two  was  not  so  well  proportioned 
as  the  smaller,  but  both  of  them  easily  gave  the  im- 
pression, viewed  from  the  path  of  our  trail,  of  great 
castles  with  wings  and  turrets,  all  tumbling  down  and 
wasting  away.  Gilmore  told  us  that  the  earlier  travel- 
ers on  the  Oregon  trail  had  called  these  formations 
the  "court  houses."  Some  distance  beyond  these  curi- 
osities we  came  to  Chimney  Rock,  which  I  am  sure 
every  one  who  passed  over  the  trail  remembers.  It 
stood  out  in  the  valley  of  the  Platte  several  hundred 
feet  from  the  main  bluff  of  the  river  and  rose  to  a 
height  of  nearly  three  hundred  feet,  as  we  estimated. 
The  base  covered  a  considerable  area  of  ground  and 
the  top  was  probably  fifty  feet  across.  It  was  a  mix- 
ture of  sand,  clay  and  stones,  and  the  action  of  the 
weather  had  crumbled  much  of  the  upper  portions 
about  the  base. 

A  little  beyond  Chimney  Rock  we  came  to  Scott's 
Bluffs,  which  we  reached  late  in  the  afternoon.  We 
drove  into  a  beautiful  little  valley  and  camped  for  the 
night.  Just  about  dark  the  most  terrific  thunder  storm 
I  ever  experienced  in  my  life  broke  upon  us.  The 
whole  valley  seemed  to  be  lit  up  in  a  blaze  of  fire 
and  the  thunder  was  deafening.  Some  three  or  four 
emigrant  trains  which  we  had  overtaken  were  camped 
in  this  valley  and  next  morning  we  counted  fifteen 
cattle  that  had  been  killed  by  bolts  of  lightning.  For- 


24  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

tunately  none  of  them  belonged  to  us.  Scott's  Bluffs 
is  a  single  row  of  hills  or  perpendicular  cliffs  standing 
out  in  the  valley  between  the  main  table  land  and  the 
channel  of  the  river.  They  are  much  like  Chimney 
Rock  in  formation  and  are  of  various  forms  and  moulds 
and  present  a  strange  appearance  from  the  path  of 
the  trail.  We  passed  for  miles  between  these  bluffs 
and  the  table  land  with  the  river  over  beyond  the 
bluffs. 

Fort  Laramie  was  our  next  point,  some  sixty  miles 
farther  on.  The  fort  is  situated  on  Laramie  River 
about  a  mile  above  its  union  with  the  North  Platte. 
Here  we  saw  the  first  white  man,  except  the  emigrants 
who  were  outward  bound  with  us,  since  leaving  home. 
We  were  given  a  very  hearty  welcome  by  the  soldiers 
and  the  few  others  who  lived  there.  They  asked  us 
many  questions  and  told  us  they  had  had  no  news  from 
home  all  winter  until  the  emigrant  trains  began  to  ar- 
rive. The  Indians  were  constantly  about  them  and 
they  had  to  be  very  careful  to  avoid  trouble  with  them. 
Their  greatest  difficulty  was  to  procure  firewood, 
which  they  found  some  considerable  distance  from 
the  fort  and  over  the  river.  They  told  us  they  always 
sent  a  guard  of  soldiers  out  with  the  wagons  when  they 
went  after  wood.  We  camped  there  over  night  and 
I  was  on  picket.  Next  morning  at  daylight  I  saw  a 
beautiful  mound  not  far  away,and  as  I  was  anxious  to 
investigate  everything,  I  walked  over  to  it.  I  found  it 
was  an  Indian  burying  ground,  and  was  literally  cover- 
ed with  human  and  animal  bones  which  had  been 
placed  around,  apparently  in  an  effort  to  decorate, 
and  human  skulls  seemed  to  be  a  particular  favorite. 
Hundreds  of  them  it  seemed  to  me  lay  grinning  at  me. 
I  am  sure  had  I  known  this  grewsome  sight  was  so  close 
to  me  I  could  never  have  been  induced  to  stand  guard 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  25 

all  night  in  the  darkness.  I  was  but  a  boy  then  and 
this  scene  horrified  me.  I  soon  learned,  however,  not 
to  be  afraid  of  dead  Indians. 

After  a  rest  of  a  day  or  two  under  the  protection 
of  the  Fort,  we  started  forward,  moving  across  a  high, 
mountainous  country  which  occupied  the  wide  bend 
in  the  North  Platte  River.  As  I  recall,  the  distance 
across  this  strip  of  country  is  probably  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  or  more.  Many  places  were  very  rug- 
ged and  we  experienced  much  difficulty  in  making 
our  way.  On  this  portion  of  the  road  we  had  great 
difficulty  also  with  the  Indians — that  is  we  continually 
feared  trouble.  We  were  not  attacked  at  any  time 
nor  did  we  lose  any  of  our  horses  or  cattle,  but  we 
lived  in  continual  fear  both  of  our  lives  and  of  our 
property.  The  Crow  and  Sioux  tribes  occupied  this 
land  and  they  were  war-like  and  troublesome  savages. 
Scarcely  a  man  in  the  company  dared  go  to  sleep  dur- 
ing the  whole  journey  from  Fort  Laramie  to  the  point 
where  we  reached  Platte  River  again,  opposite  the 
mouth  of  Sweetwater.  It  was  in  this  very  country,  as 
I  shall  relate  hereafter,  that  these  Indians  tried  to  kill 
and  rob  my  brothers  and  myself  in  '51,  and  in  '55,  while 
my  brother  James  and  my  youngest  brother  Robert 
ivere  bringing  a  drove  of  cattle  across,  my  brother 
Robert,  only  seventeen  years  old,  was  killed.  I  think 
all  the  early  travelers  across  the  plains  dreaded  the 
Indians  on  this  portion  of  the  road  more  than  any 
other  obstacle  to  be  found  on  the  entire  journey,  not 
excepting  the  alkali  deserts  of  Utah  and  Nevada. 
When  we  again  reached  Platte  River  it  was  very  high 
and  the  current  very  swift.  It  was  out  of  the  question 
to  attempt  fording  it,  and  it  looked  for  a  time  as  if  our 
progress  would  be  retarded  perhaps  for  many  days. 
It  would  serve  no  purpose  to  attempt  to  find  a  better 


26  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

place  to  cross,  for  from  the  amount  of  water  in  the 
river,  we  felt  quite  certain  we  could  find  no  place  with- 
in one  hundred  miles  where  the  wagons  could  be  driven 
over.  We  had  one  satisfaction  left  to  us  and  that  was 
that  we  had  plenty  of  water  and  plenty  of  grass,  and 
if  we  had  to  stay  on  this  side  of  the  river  any  consid- 
erable time  we  were  in  no  danger  of  losing  our  stock. 
We  camped  and  rested  a  day  and  thought  about  the 
situation.  Finally  we  decided  to  try  rafting  the  wagons 
over  and  herding  the  cattle  across.  We  cut  four  good 
sized  cottonwood  logs  from  the  timber  which  grew  near 
to  the  stream,  fastened  ropes  to  them  and  pushed  them 
in  the  water.  They  were  then  tied  firmly  together  and 
anchored  to  the  shore.  We  then  unloaded  the  wagons, 
took  off  the  boxes  or  beds,  and  set  one  upon  these 
logs.  We  then  reloaded  this  bed  and  four  men  with 
long  poles  got  upon  the  raft  and  some  one  on  the 
bank  untied  the  rope.  I  thought  from  the  way  this  rude 
ship  started  down  stream  that  it  would  reach  St.  Jo- 
seph in  about  three  days  if  it  kept  up  that  rate  of 
speed.  The  current  caught  it  and  dashed  it  along  at 
a  great  rate  and  I  was  considerably  alarmed,  I  remem- 
ber, for  a  good  portion  of  our  provisions  had  been 
placed  in  the  wagon  box.  The  boys  on  the  raft,  how- 
ever, kept  their  heads  and  though  none  of  them  were 
much  accustomed  to  the  water,  they  understood  enough 
about  it  to  avoid  upsetting  the  craft.  Little  by  little 
they  pushed  and  paddled  toward  the  middle  of  the 
stream  and  finally  brought  it  up  to  shore  probably  a 
mile  down  stream.  After  anchoring  the  raft  the  arti- 
cles loaded  into  the  wagon  bed  were  removed,  placed 
upon  the  bank  and  finally  the  wagon  bed  was  taken 
off  and  likewise  placed  on  high  ground.  The  boys 
then  with  great  difficulty  towed  the  raft  along  the 
shore  up  stream  to  a  point  far  enough  above  the  camp 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  27 

on  the  opposite  bank  to  enable  them  to  pilot  it  back  to 
the  desired  landing  place.  They  finally  brought  it  up 
when,  after  anchoring  it  firmly,  the  running  gears  of 
the  wagon  were  rolled  down  and  pushed  out  upon  the 
raft,  the  axles  resting  on  the  logs  and  the  wheels  ex- 
tending down  into  the  water.  This  cargo  was  ferried 
across  in  the  same  manner.  In  this  way  after  much 
labor,  paddling  and  poling  this  raft  back  and  forth, 
our  entire  outfit  was  landed  safely  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  stream.  Our  belongings  were,  however,  pretty 
widely  scattered,  because  the  boys  always  unloaded  at 
the  place  they  were  able  to  land.  It  took  much  time  to 
again  rig  up  the  wagons  and  collect  the  provisions  and 
camp  equipment  and  get  it  all  together  again. 

We  had  allowed  our  cattle  to  remain  on  the  east 
side  of  the  river  during  this  operation,  and  after  every- 
thing was  ready  on  the  opposite  side  we  rounded  them 
up  and  pushed  them  into  the  water.  They  swam  across 
in  fine  shape,  the  men  swimming  their  horses  after 
them.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  all  of  us  to  feel  that  we 
were  safely  across  and  to  realize  that  we  had  saved  a 
good  many  days,  perhaps,  by  the  effort  we  had  made. 
We  were  especially  desirous  of  keeping  well  in  front 
of  the  emigrant  trains  that  we  knew  to  be  upon  the 
road  in  order  that  our  oxen  and  horses  might  have  bet- 
ter grazing  and  we  felt  that  by  the  accomplishment  of 
the  task  which  had  just  been  finished  we  had  probably 
set  ourselves  in  advance  of  many  of  the  trains. 

After  a  good  rest  we  moved  on  and  soon  entered 
the  valley  of  Sweetwater  River  which  we  followed  for 
many  miles.  Toward  the  head  waters  of  this  stream 
we  passed  Independence  Rock,  which,  even  in  that  day, 
was  a  marked  natural  curiosity  much  spoken  of  by 
travelers.  There  were  many  names  cut  in  the  smooth 
face  of  this  immense  boulder  and  we  added  our  own 


28  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

to  the  list.  A  long  toilsome  climb  after  leaving  Inde- 
pendence Rock  brought  us  to  the  crest  of  the  continental 
divide  from  which  we  descended  into  the  valley  of 
Green  River.  This  is  an  extensive  basin  and  we  were 
a  good  many  days  passing  through  it,  but  met  with  no 
occurrences  worthy  of  special  mention.  As  we  passed 
out  of  the  valley,  our  road  led  us  over  a  high  range  of 
mountains  and  I  shall  always  remember  the  view 
which  presented  itself  in  front  of  us  as  we  reached 
the  top.  The  valley  of  Bear  River  lay  before  us  for 
many  miles.  The  view  was  obstructed  only  by  the  fact 
that  the  eye  had  not  the  power  to  see  all  that  was  spread 
before  it.  In  all  my  experience  in  the  mountains,  I 
can  at  this  moment  recall  no  place  that  presents  so 
striking  a  picture  as  the  one  which  remains  in  my 
memory  of  this  scene.  I  cannot  locate  the  place  upon 
the  map,  except  approximately,  though  I  have  often 
tried  to  do  so.  In  those  days  we  had  few  names.  There 
were  no  county  lines  and  no  towns  by  which  to  locate 
natural  objects  so  they  might  be  pointed  out  to  others. 
Even  the  mountain  ranges  and  many  of  the  smaller 
streams  had  either  not  received  names  or  we  had 
not  heard  them.  The  place  I  have  been  attempt- 
ing to  describe  was  near  the  extreme  western  border 
of  Wyoming  and  must  have  been  about  opposite  Rear 
Lake  in  Idaho,  perhaps  a  little  north. 

An  incident  occurred  at  this  place  which  served  to 
impress  it  upon  my  mind  independent  of  its  natural 
beauties.  Shortly  before  we  approached  the  crest  of 
the  mountain  we  began  to  see  emigrant  wagons  ahead. 
Finally  we  noticed  what  appeared  to  be  an  immense 
train  stretching  out  in  front  of  us.  On  nearer  ap- 
proach we  discovered  that  some  forty  or  fifty  wagons 
which  had  fallen  into  the  Oregon  trail  at  various  places 
along  the  line  were  blocked,  apparently  by  the  difficul- 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  29 

ties  attending  a  descent  of  the  opposite  side  of 
the  mountain.  We  halted  our  teams  and  went  for- 
ward on  foot  and  discovered  that  there  was  but  one 
place  where  the  descent  could  be  made  at  all  and  that 
was  along  a  steep,  rough  canyon  at  one  place  in  which 
the  wagons  had  to  be  let  down  by  hand.  We  approach- 
ed and  watched  the  operation  for  an  hour  or  two.  The 
teams  and  wagons  in  proper  turn  passed  down  to 
this  abrupt  place  where  the  oxen  were  taken  off 
and  driven  down.  The  wagons,  rough-locked  with 
chains,  were  then  let  down  by  long  ropes,  a  great 
many  men  holding  to  the  ropes  to  prevent  the  wagon 
from  running  away.  It  was  very  slow  work  and  we 
immediately  saw  that  a  delay  of  three  or  four  days 
at  least  was  ahead  of  us  if  we  waited  to  take  our  turn 
down  this  embankment.  A  conference  was  called  as 
soon  as  our  men  got  back  to  the  wagons.  Gilmore 
said  he  was  not  willing  to  believe  that  the  point  these 
emigrants  had  selected  was  the  only  place  where  the 
teams  could  get  down,  so  he  and  a  few  more  of  our 
company  started  to  the  left  of  the  trail  to  seek  a  new 
place.  After  about  two  hours,  Gilmore  and  his  men 
came  back  and  said  they  thought  they  had  found  a 
place  and  directed  the  teams  to  move  forward.  A 
long  winding  drive  down  a  spur  or  ridge  that  led  off 
to  the  left  of  the  canyon  brought  us  to  the  place  Gil- 
more  had  discovered.  I  went  up  and  took  a  look 
and  I  confess  that  I  was  very  much  afraid  we  could 
not  make  it.  There  was  not  a  tree,  nor  a  log,  nor  any- 
thing else  out  of  which  we  could  make  a  drag  to  tie 
behind  the  wagons  and  thus  retard  them  as  they  mov- 
ed down  the  slope.  I  saw  that  Gilmore  had  some  plan 
in  his  mind,  however,  and  waited  to  see  it  develop. 
He  ordered  the  three  front  yoke  of  oxen  off  the  front 
wagon  and  directed  that  they  be  taken  to  the  rear  of 


30  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

the  wagon  leaving  the  wheel  yoke  hitched  to  the  ton- 
gue. These  three  yoke  of  oxen  were  tied  by  a  chain 
to  the  rear  axle.  The  wheels  were  all  four  rough- 
locked  with  chains  made  fast  and  tight.  When 
this  was  done  we  gathered  our  whips  and  told  the 
oxen  to  move  on.  As  the  wheel  yoke  started  forward 
the  wagon  pitched  down  upon  them.  They  set  their 
feet  forward  and  laid  back  upon  the  tongue.  When 
the  chain  tightened  on  the  three  yoke  tied  to  the  rear, 
they,  like  the  yoke  in  front,  set  their  feet  and  laid  back 
upon  the  chain.  Then  the  whole — wagon  and  oxen- 
went  plowing  down  the  mountain  side  more  than  one 
hundred  yards  before  the  ground  became  level  enough 
to  release  the  wheels.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  be  able 
to  unlock  the  wheels  and  release  the  oxen  and  know 
that  all  was  safe.  The  six  other  wagons  repeated  this 
experience  in  turn.  The  whole  descent  had  required 
but  little  more  than  two  hours  and  we  found  ourselves 
well  down  into  the  valley  of  Bear  River  two  days 
ahead  of  time,  and  best  of  all,  in  the  lead  of  those 
emigrants  who  were  waiting  to  let  their  wagons  down 
by  hand  over  on  the  other  road. 

Soda  Springs  on  Rear  River  was  our  next  point. 
We  reached  it  after  a  two  days'  journey  from  the  point 
where  we  had  descended  the  mountain.  Here  I  saw 
another  wonder — to  me.  Water,  almost  boiling,  spurted 
right  up  out  of  the  ground.  One  spring  in  particular 
which  they  told  us  had  been  named  Steamboat  Spring 
was  especially  noticeable.  Every  three  or  four  min- 
utes it  would  throw  a  jet  of  water  up  four  or 
five  feet  high,  then  subside.  Just  about  the  time  every 
thing  seemed  to  be  getting  settled,  the  water  would 
gush  out  again.  This  continued  at  regular  intervals 
night  and  day  and  may,  for  all  I  know,  still  be  going 
on.  There  were  a  number  of  hot  springs,  besides 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  31 

several  other  springs,  the  water  of  which  was  strongly 
impregnated  with  soda.  We  halted  a  little  while 
here  to  rest  and  to  inspect  this  great  wonder  and 
then  pushed  on  in  a  north-westerly  direction  to- 
ward Fort  Hall,  which  is  located  on  Snake  River. 
This  required  about  a  three  days'  drive,  as  I  remember. 
We  knew  at  the  time  that  this  course  took  us  consid- 
erably out  of  the  way,  but  we  had  no  information  as 
to  the  barriers  to  be  encountered  by  an  attempt  to  short- 
en the  route,  so  we  were  content  to  follow  the  beaten 
trail. 

I  remember  an  incident  which  occurred  at  Fort 
Hall.  We  had  fallen  in  with  a  train  from  Jackson 
County  which  was  known  as  Hayes'  train,  and  we  all 
journeyed  together  to  Fort  Hall.  A  government  fort 
was  located  there  and  Hayes  found  in  the  fort,  a  negro 
man  who  had  run  off  from  his  Jackson  County  planta- 
tion six  years  before.  Hayes  instead  of  asserting 
ownership  over  this  negro  and  compelling  him  to  go 
back  into  servitude,  made  a  contract  with  him  to  drive 
one  of  his  teams  through  to  California  and  work  one 
year  for  him  in  California,  after  which  the  negro  was 
to  have  his  freedom.  This  seemed  to  suit  the  negro 
exactly  and  he  picked  up  his  long  gad  and  started  af- 
ter the  oxen.  We  all  moved  together  down  Snake 
River  to  the  mouth  of  Raft  River,  and  on  this  part  of 
the  journey  an  incident  occurred  which  caused  all  of 
us  a  good  deal  of  uneasiness.  Hayes  had  a  bright  lad 
with  him  about  sixteen  years  old  who  was  always  play- 
ing pranks.  He  also  had  a  driver  who  was  dreadfully 
afraid  of  Indians.  One  night  after  we  had  camped,  the 
lad  took  a  red  blanket  and  slipped  away  from  the  camp 
around  near  to  where  the  driver  was  standing  guard. 
He  threw  the  blanket  over  his  shoulders  after  the 
fashion  of  the  Indians  and  secreted  himself  behind  an 


32  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

obstruction,  and  at  the  proper  time,  slipped  out  of  his 
place  of  concealment  and  started  toward  the  driver. 
The  driver  ran  just  as  the  boy  had  anticipated,  but 
when  the  boy  started  to  follow,  playing  Indian  all  the 
time,  the  driver  halted  long  enough  to  put  a  load  of 
shot  into  the  boy.  Fortunately  the  shot  was  not  fatal, 
but  the  boy  was  dreadfully  wounded  and  had  to  be 
hauled  in  one  of  the  wagons  clear  on  to  California. 
We  had  little  or  no  means  of  giving  him  attention  and 
the  poor  boy  suffered  a  great  deal,  but  he  finally  got 
well. 

When  we  reached  the  mouth  of  Raft  River,  a  small 
stream  which  flows  into  the  Snake  River  from  the 
south,  we  halted  for  a  conference.  Hayes  with  his  train 
was  accompanying  us,  but  he  knew  no  more  about  the 
country  than  we.  It  was  clear  that  we  must  break 
away  from  the  Oregon  trail  at  some  point  in  that  im- 
mediate vicinity  and  it  occurred  to  us  that  this  little 
river  would  afford  the  most  likely  passage  to  the  crest 
of  the  divide  from  which  we  could  descend  into  the 
valley  of  the  Humboldt.  Accordingly  our  oxen  were 
turned  out  of  the  beaten  path  and  headed  over  an 
unknown  stretch  of  country.  We  experienced  very  lit- 
tle difficulty  that  I  now  recall  so  long  as  we  were  able 
to  follow  the  river,  but  by  and  by  the  stream  became 
very  small  and  led  us  into  a  rugged,  mountainous 
country.  After  much  climbing  and  wandering  about 
we  reached  the  crest  of  a  divide  which  is  now  called 
the  Raft  River  Mountains;  passing  down  the  farther 
slope  of  these  mountains  we  encountered  a  dreadful 
alkali  desert  before  reaching  the  main  stem  of  the 
Humboldt  River.  The  men,  horses  and  cattle  suffered 
greatly.  The  alkali  dust  raised  by  the  moving  teams 
parched  the  throat  and  nostrils  and  lack  of  water  de- 
nied either  to  man  or  beast  any  relief.  Fortunately 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  33 

for  us,  this  did  not  last  many  days.  Whether  by  ac- 
cident or  from  good  judgment,  we  soon  located  a  good 
sized  stream  of  water  which  eventually  proved  to  be 
one  of  the  main  prongs  of  Humboldt  River.  We  fol- 
lowed this  stream  probably  two  hundred  miles  or  more, 
and  while  the  grazing  was  very  short,  we  had  plenty 
of  water  and  were  able  to  get  along. 

One  night  just  before  we  reached  Big  Meadow, 
while  we  were  camped  alongside  the  Humboldt  River, 
a  band  of  Digger  Indians  slipped  into  our  herd  and 
drove  two  of  the  cattle  away.  Next  morning  after 
rounding  up  the  cattle  these  oxen  were  missed  and 
search  was  immediately  instituted.  Bob  and  James 
Gilmore,  Charles  McCray  and  brother  William  got  on 
their  horses  and  made  a  wide  circle  about  the  camp. 
They  discovered  tracks  leading  toward  the  mountains 
and  followed  them.  After  they  had  gone  several  miles 
and  could  still  see  nothing  of  the  cattle,  they  became 
convinced  that  the  Indians  had  taken  them  into  the 
mountains,  and  as  McCray  and  Gibson  had  gone  away 
without  their  guns,  McCray  was  sent  back  to  get  them. 
McCray  reached  camp,  got  the  guns  and  started  out 
to  overtake  the  boys,  but  soon  returned  saying  he  could 
not  find  them.  The  company  remained  in  camp  wait- 
ing continually  for  their  return  and  when,  late  in  the 
afternoon,  they  had  not  returned,  we  began  to  feel 
quite  uneasy.  When  night  came  and  they  had  still 
not  returned,  we  piled  sage  brush  on  our  camp  fire  and 
kept  it  burning  very  bright  to  light  them  in.  No  one 
in  the  camp  slept  and  as  the  hours  passed,  uneasiness 
increased.  Finally,  late  in  the  night  they  came  in,  all 
safe,  but  very  tired  and  without  the  cattle,  and  gave 
us  the  following  account  of  their  experience. 

They  had  followed  the  tracks  of  the  cattle  through 
the  sand  fifteen  miles  and  traced  them  into  a  steep, 


34  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

rough  gorge  or  canyon  that  opened  into  the  valley 
from  the  mountain.  They  entered  this  gorge  with  great 
caution  and  had  not  gone  far  when  they  found  the  car- 
casses of  the  cattle  warm  and  bleeding,  but  no  Indians 
in  sight.  They  were  convinced  that  Indians  could  not 
be  far  away,  and  momentarily  expected  an  attack  from 
ambush.  The  Indians  had  evidently  posted  a  watch  on 
some  high  point  on  the  mountain,  who,  when  the  men 
were  seen  approaching,  gave  the  alarm,  upon  which 
the  cattle  were  immediately  killed  and  the  Indians 
fled  to  cover. 

It  was  then  nearly  night.  The  horses  were  poor 
and  weak,  and  neither  the  horses  nor  the  men  had 
tasted  food  or  water  throughout  the  day,  and  there  was 
no  relief  except  in  camp.  Delay  was  useless,  so  they 
turned  immediately  and  started  back.  After  reaching 
the  plain  they  noticed  far  out  in  the  distance  a  cloud 
of  dust  on  the  horizon  and  supposed  at  first  it  was  a 
small  whirlwind,  as  whirlwinds  were  very  common 
on  those  sandy  deserts.  The  dust  continued  to  rise 
and  apparently  to  approach  toward  them,  and  in  a 
little  while  they  were  able  to  make  out  objects  moving 
through  it.  They  then  knew  that  the  Indians,  having 
been  warned  of  their  approach  and  having  seen  them 
enter  the  canyon,  had  made  a  wide  circle  to  the  rear, 
and  that  their  purpose  was  to  cut  them  off  from  camp. 
Only  a  few  minutes  were  required  to  reveal  the  fact 
that  the  Indians,  about  thirty  in  number,  were  coming 
toward  them  as  fast  as  their  ponies  could  gallop,  and 
a  brief  counsel  of  war  was  held.  To  attempt  to  out-run 
them  on  the  poor  jaded  horses  was  out  of  the 
question,  and  the  situation  looked  rather  desperate. 
Their  lack  of  guns  and  ammunition  and  their  inferior 
numbers  made  the  result  of  a  fight  very  doubtful. 
They  had  no  choice  but  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  the 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  35 

only  thing  in  their  favor  was  the  well  known  coward- 
ice of  the  Indians  in  an  open  face  to  face  fight.  Each 
of  the  Gilmores  had  a  double  barrel  shot  gun  and  Gib- 
son had  his  bowie  knife  and  these  were  the  weapons 
with  which  the  fight  had  to  be  made.  The  boys  dis- 
mounted and  as  the  Indians  came  within  easy  view  of 
them  they  stepped  out  in  front  of  their  horses  and 
waited.  The  men  with  the  guns  held  them  in  position 
to  fire  and  Gibson  drew  his  bowie  knife  and  held  it 
steadily  in  his  hand.  The  Indians  came  on  furiously, 
screaming  and  yelling,  but  the  boys  did  not  stir  a  step. 
The  plan  was  to  let  them  come  and  get  as  many  of 
them  as  possible  with  the  four  loads  that  were  in  the 
guns,  then  with  the  knife  and  the  guns  as  clubs,  fight 
it  out. 

The  boys  said  that  for  two  or  three  minutes  there 
was  every  indication  that  the  Indians  really  meant 
to  fight.  They  showed  no  disposition  to  halt,  but  came 
yelling  and  dashing  forward  until  they  were  almost  in 
range  of  the  guns.  Even  though  the  boys  were  not 
equal  to  the  task  they  had  to  keep  their  nerve.  If  they 
had  shown  the  least  disposition  to  waver  or  to  change 
positions  the  Indians  would  have  been  encouraged  to 
come  upon  them.  They  stood  as  firm  and  steady  as 
though  they  were  made  of  stone.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken,  except  that  Bob  Gilmore  quietly  counselled 
the  boys  to  stand  perfectly  still.  This  attitude  was  too 
much  for  the  Indians.  They  became  convinced  that 
they  really  had  a  fight  on  their  hands,  and  when  with- 
in seventy-five  yards  they  came  to  a  sudden  halt  and 
all  danger  was  past.  The  bluff  had  worked  and 
the  Indians  were  going  to  pretend  they  never  had  any 
hostile  intentions.  The  boys  continued  to  stand  per- 
fectly firm  and  wait.  After  a  moment  or  two,  three 
or  four  Indians  came  forward  bowing,  making  every 


36  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

demonstration  of  friendship,  saying,  "How,  How,"  and 
asking  for  tobacco.  Gibson  in  return  bowed  to  them 
and  said  "How,  How."  He  also  indicated  they  could 
have  tobacco  if  they  would  approach,  but  the  Gilmores 
kept  their  guns  steadily  raised  in  the  same  position. 
When  within  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  the  Indians  stopped 
and  Gibson  approached  a  little  nearer  to  them  and 
put  on  an  appearance  of  great  friendship.  He  had  no 
tobacco,  but  the  Gilmores  had,  so  Gibson  went  back 
for  it,  the  others  remaining  in  position  to  fire,  and  took 
it  from  their  pockets.  The  Indians  then  bowed  and 
the  boys,  bowed  and  the  Indians  turned  and  went  back 
to  their  companions.  The  four  emissaries  who  had 
come  out  for  the  tobacco  mounted  their  ponies  and 
the  whole  thirty  of  them  rode  away.  The  boys  kept 
their  positions  until  the  Indians  were  far  out  on  the 
plain.  They  could  see  them  as  they  rode  away,  turn 
on  their  ponies  and  watch  them,  and  they  proposed 
to  give  them  to  understand  that  there  was  a  fight  ready 
for  them  if  they  desired  it,  and  thus  probably  prevent 
an  attack  farther  on  in  their  journey  to  camp  and 
after  night. 

When  the  Indians  were  well  out  of  the  way,  the 
party  journeyed  on.  It  was  then  nearly  sundown  and 
fifteen  miles  to  camp.  The  boys  had  taken  note  of 
the  natural  objects  along  the  road  out,  and  before  it 
grew  entirely  dark  they  located  these  objects  with 
reference  to  certain  stars  that  would  lead  them  after 
night,  and  in  this  way  managed  to  get  along  until  they 
came  to  where  they  could  see  the  reflection  of  the 
burning  sage  brush  upon  the  sky.  We  were  greatly 
rejoiced  to  see  them,  and  even  though  they  did  not 
bring  the  cattle  back,  we  felt  after  our  hours  of  anx- 
iety that  the  loss  of  the  cattle  was  but  a  trivial  matter. 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  37 

A  few  days'  drive  after  our  encounter  with  the 
Indians  brought  us  to  Big  Meadow,  a  name  given  to  a 
sort  of  oasis  which  was  covered  with  abundant  grass 
and  where  our  cattle  could  get  the  finest  water.  We 
took  a  good  rest  here  and  it  was  a  delight  to  see  the 
cattle  and  horses,  after  their  long  drive  over  the  sand 
and  through  the  sage  brush,  wade  belly  deep  in  the 
finest  of  grass.  During  our  stay  at  this  place  we  cut 
and  cured  a  large  quantity  of  hay  and  loaded  it  on 
our  wagons.  We  had  heard  that  there  was  a  desert 
ahead  and  wanted  to  be  prepared  for  it.  We  must 
have  spent  four  or  five  days  at  this  place,  and  when 
we  set  forward  both  men  and  cattle  were  much  re- 
freshed. A  day's  journey,  as  I  remember,  brought  us 
to  the  lowrer  end  of  Humboldt  Lake,  where,  so  far  as 
we  could  see,  Humboldt  River  stopped,  that  is  the 
river  ran  into  this  lake  and  there  was  apparently  no 
outlet.  We  could  see  a  barren  country  ahead,  and 
rightly  judged  that  we  were  approaching  the  desert 
we  had  heard  of. 

Next  morning  everything  was  prepared  for  a  long 
drive  without  grazing  or  water.  We  left  early  and  all 
day  long  traveled  over  a  hot,  dry  plain  without  once 
finding  a  drop  of  water,  and  where  there  was  no  vege- 
tation upon  which  our  cattle  could  feed.  When  night 
came  a  conference  was  held.  To  attempt  to  camp  in 
that  arid  place  without  food  or  water  would  weaken 
our  stock  and  exhaust  our  men,  so  we  decided  not  to 
camp  at  all.  Accordingly  the  weary  oxen  and  horses 
were  pushed  on  at  increased  speed.  We  traveled  all 
night  long  and  when  daylight  came  there  was  still  no 
prospect  of  relief.  To  stop,  however,  was  more  likely 
to  bring  disaster  than  to  go  on,  so  we  kept  moving. 
About  noon  we  began  to  see  some  evidences  of  a 
change.  Off  in  the  distance  we  thought  we  could  see 


38  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

that  the  land  had  a  green  appearance,  and  this  raised 
our  hopes.  On  nearer  approach  we  found  that  our 
first  impressions  were  correct  and  that  we  were  really 
approaching  food  and  water.  In  a  little  while  we  came 
to  a  prong  of  what  I  learned  afterwards  was  Carson 
River,  which  came  down  from  the  mountains  and  ran 
in  an  opposite  direction  from  the  Humboldt  River. 
The  water  was  clear  and  had  hardly  a  tinge  of  alkali 
in  it.  When  our  cattle  and  horses  saw  the  water,  we 
could  not  hold  them  and  we  did  not  try  very  much, 
for  we  were  almost  as  nearly  famished  as  they.  We 
took  the  yokes  off  of  them  and  let  them  go.  They 
ran  pell-mell  down  to  the  water  and  plunged  into  it. 
The  men  did  scarcely  better.  Many  of  them  jumped 
right  into  the  water  with  their  clothes  on  and  drank 
and  splashed  by  turns  until  they  had  slaked  their 
thirst  and  relieved  their  parched  throats.  As  soon  as 
food  could  be  prepared,  and  eaten,  everybody  went 
to  sleep  except  those  who  were  detailed  to  stand  guard 
the  first  two  hours.  We  remained  there,  the  guard 
being  relieved  every  two  hours,  until  the  following 
morning,  when  both  men  and  cattle  were  sufficiently 
refreshed  to  proceed. 

Thenceforward  our  journey  led  us  up  Carson 
River.  This  was  not  a  hard  journey.  The  grass  was 
fine  and  the  water  clear.  There  was  no  occasion  for 
hurry.  It  was  then  growing  toward  the  end  of  July 
and  the  worst  of  our  journey  was  over. 

We  moved  only  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  a  day  and 
allowed  our  cattle  and  horses  to  browse  along  and  fill 
themselves  as  they  went.  Nearly  a  hundred  miles  up 
the  river  we  came  to  Carson  Valley,  where  Carson 
City  is  now  situated.  As  I  recall  my  whole  journey,  I 
can  think  of  no  place  that  so  impressed  me  with  its 
beauty.  Six  miles  across  this  valley,  we  came  to 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  39 

the  mouth  of  Carson  River  Canyon  where  the  river 
flows  out  of  the  mountain.  Six  miles  farther  on  and 
after  crossing  the  river  a  dozen  times  or  more,  we 
passed  out  of  the  canyon  and  found  ourselves  at  the 
foot  of  what  we  named  "The  Two-Mile  Mountain." 
This  mountain  had  to  be  climbed.  It  was  so  steep  that 
ten  yoke  of  oxen  were  required  to  draw  each  wagon 
up.  This  made  slow  work,  as  some  of  the  wagons  had 
to  be  left  at  the  bottom  and  the  oxen  brought  back  to 
get  them.  After  reaching  the  top,  we  journeyed  on 
and  came  to  Red  Lake.  This  was  a  beautiful  body  of 
water.  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  is  what  is  now  called 
Lake  Tahoe  or  not,  though  I  feel  sure  it  is.  After  pass- 
ing beyond  this  lake,  we  came  to  the  "Six-Mile  Moun- 
tain." This  was  not  so  steep  as  the  "Two-Mile  Moun- 
tain," but  it  was  a  much  longer  pull.  As  we  approach- 
ed the  top  we  came  to  snow.  This  was  the  5th  day 
of  August,  1849.  Before  we  reached  the  very  crest  of 
the  range  our  oxen  had  to  pass  over  great  drifts  of 
frozen  snow  which,  for  all  we  knew,  may  have  been 
hundreds  of  feet  deep.  At  the  top  of  the  mountain  we 
were  on  the  crest  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  Range,  and  it  was 
a  great  relief  to  start  down  hill.  One  of  the  men  went 
forward  and  picked  out  a  route  and  twelve  miles  down 
the  mountain  we  came  to  Rock  Creek.  Beyond  this 
we  encountered  a  descent  which  was  almost  as  abrupt 
as  our  descent  into  Bear  River  Valley,  but  in  the  pres- 
ent place,  we  had  plenty  of  timber,  so  we  cut  large 
trees  and  tied  them  by  chains  to  the  rear  of  the  wagons 
and  allowed  them  to  drag  behind.  This  put  a  very 
effective  brake  upon  the  wagons  and  enabled  them 
to  go  down  safely. 

I  remember  an  occurrence  which  took  place  shortly 
before  we  made  this  descent.  Our  road  led  along  the 
edge  of  a  steep  declivity  which  seemed  to  be  a  thousand 


40  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

feet  above  the  valley  below.  Mitch  Hulett  and  I  found 
it  great  sport  to  roll  rocks  off  this  precipice  and  watch 
them  bound  away  down  along  the  mountain-side. 
Sometimes  we  would  pry  a  rock  loose  that  would  weigh 
two  or  three  tons  and  watch  it  plunge  down,  tearing 
through  the  timber  with  frightful  noise,  scaring  grouse, 
pheasants  and  wild  animals  out  of  the  brush  in  great 
numbers.  Some  of  the  huge  rocks  would  occasionally 
strike  a  jutting  portion  of  the  mountain  and  bound  a 
hundred  yards  downward  without  striking  a  single 
obstruction.  We  had  not  noticed  the  lapse  of  time  and 
the  train  got  far  ahead  of  us.  By  and  by,  we  heard  a 
great  noise  to  the  rear  and  in  another  moment  a  band 
of  Indians  dashed  around  a  curve  in  the  road  and 
were  right  upon  us.  There  was  nothing  we  could  do 
but  run.  The  road  ahead  was  down  hill,  and  I  have 
always  thought  we  made  a  pretty  good  job  of  it.  We 
broke  away  at  full  speed,  never  stopping  to  look  back, 
and  expecting  every  moment  to  feel  the  arrows  in  our 
backs  or  to  see  or  hear  them  whiz  past  us.  Every  step 
gave  us  hope,  and  after  a  long  run  and  when  complete- 
ly exhausted,  we  ventured  to  halt  and  look  and  listen, 
we  discovered  that  we  were  not  being  followed  at  all. 
The  Indians  must  have  been  greatly  amused  at  our 
fright,  but  we  were  still  unwilling  to  take  chances  and 
made  the  best  haste  we  could  to  overtake  the  wagons. 
It  required  more  than  two  hours,  so  rapidly  had  the 
time  passed  in  our  sport.  That  was  the  last  time  our 
pranks  ever  induced  us  to  let  the  teams  get  so  far  ahead. 
A  place  which  afterwards  came  to  be  called  Leake 
Springs  is  the  next  point  I  remember.  We  camped 
there  for  the  night  and  on  subsequent  journeys  I  grew 
familiar  with  it.  Twenty  miles  beyond  this  we  came 
to  Grass  Valley  and  emerged  from  the  high  moun- 
tains. Fifteen  miles  farther  we  came  to  Weaver 


FIRST  TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA  41 

Creek,  August  12th,  1849,  where  we  first  saw  the  gold 
glitter. 

We  thought  our  train  was  first  over  the  trail,  but 
somehow  a  few  had  beaten  us  in.  When  we  got  down 
to  Weaver  Creek,  three  emigrants  were  at  work  pan- 
ning out  the  gold.  We  stopped  and  camped  and  watch- 
ed them  for  a  long  time.  That  night  I  was  taken  sick 
with  the  flux.  It  was  a  bad  place  to  be  sick  and  I 
was  dreadfully  sick,  too.  They  fixed  me  sort  of  a  pal- 
let under  the  shade  of  a  big  tree,  and  I  lay  there  night 
and  day  for  a  week  and  they  didn't  know  whether  I 
would  live  or  die.  Trains  were  constantly  arriving  and 
in  one  of  them  there  was  a  doctor.  He  came  down  to 
see  me  and  told  the  boys  they  must  hunt  up  a  cow 
and  give  me  fresh  warm  milk.  They  told  me  after- 
wards they  found  a  train  in  which  somebody  had  fore- 
sight enough  to  bring  a  cow  along,  and  they  got  the 
milk  and  brought  it  to  me.  I  drank  it  and  soon  re- 
covered. 


CHAPTER  III. 
Gold  Mining  in  '49  and  '50. 

At  last  we  were  in  California.  I  had  a  rather  bit- 
ter introduction,  but  I  soon  felt  well  again  and  began 
to  look  about  to  see  what  California  was  really  like 
and  to  learn  the  truth  of  all  the  wonderful  stories 
I  had  heard  about  gold.  We  didn't  want  to  take  up 
claims  immediately — wanted  to  look  about  and  get  the 
best  location  possible.  They  told  us  about  Sacramento 
City  being  down  the  river  and  we  decided  to  go  down 
there.  Weaver  Creek  was  a  small  tributary  of  the 
American  River,  so  we  went  down  to  the  main  stream 
and  moved  on  down  in  the  direction  of  Sacramento 
City.  We  met  a  man  who  said  he  had  just  been  down 
there.  We  asked  him  how  far  it  was,  and  he  said  forty 
miles.  Said  it  was  at  the  mouth  of  the  American 
River,  that  is,  where  the  American  River  flowed  into 
the  Sacramento  River.  In  two  days  we  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  river,  but  we  didn't  see  any  city.  I  saw 
a  few  tents,  and  there  was  an  old  sail  boat  anchor- 
ed on  Sacramento  River  up  close  to  the  bank,  but  that 
was  all.  I  asked  a  man  where  Sacramento  City  was. 
He  said,  "This  is  the  place." 

We  didn't  expect  to  find  much  of  a  city,  but  were 
hardly  prepared  for  what  we  found.  We  stretched  our 
tent,  turned  our  cattle  out  to  graze  and  prepared  for  a 
rest.  It  was  a  delightful  place.  I  never  saw  finer  grass 
nor  finer  water,  and  we  still  had  plenty  to  eat.  Toward 
the  close  of  the  day  I  went  down  to  where  the  sail  boat 
was  being  unloaded.  Four  or  five  men  were  carrying 
provisions — flour,  bacon,  pickled  pork,  sugar,  coffee, 
rice — in  fact  everything  substantial  to  eat,  out  of  the 


GOLD  MINING  IN  '49  AND  '50  43 

boat  and  throwing  it  upon  the  bank  among  the  grape 
vines.  I  saw  no  owner.  There  were  no  police  and  no- 
body seemed  to  be  afraid  of  thieves.  They  were  not 
afraid  either  of  rain,  for  none  could  be  expected  at 
that  season  of  the  year.  Nor  was  there  even  any  dew. 
Everything  seemed  to  be  safe  both  day  and  night. 

Our  lean  old  cattle  fattened  fast  and  in  a  little 
while  we  could  hardly  recognize  them.  It  was  a  joy  to 
see  them  eat  and  drink  and  rest  after  the  hardships 
they  had  endured.  The  poor  things  had  suffered  even 
more  than  the  men. 

About  the  first  of  September  we  started  back  to 
the  mines.  Twenty  miles  up  the  American  River  we 
each  took  up  a  claim  and  went  to  work.  Everything 
was  placer  mining.  Each  man  had  his  pan  and  with  it 
and  the  water  of  the  river,  he  washed  the  gravel  away 
from  the  loose  gold.  We  worked  there^  several  weeks 
and  so  far  as  we  could  see,  exhausted  the  gold  that  was 
in  our  claims.  We  found  on  estimating  the  result  of 
our  work  that  each  man  had  averaged  about  sixteen 
dollars  a  day  for  every  day  he  had  worked. 

About  the  time  our  claims  were  exhausted,  we  were 
surprised  to  meet  Russell  Hill,  a  cousin  of  mine,  who 
had  worked  his  way  down  from  Oregon  to  Sacramento 
by  way  of  Shasta  City,  and  learning  at  Sacramento 
that  we  were  up  the  American  River,  had  come  on  up 
to  see  us.  He  had  left  his  home  in  Iowa  the  year  be- 
fore and  had  gone  to  Oregon.  He  told  us  he  had  stop- 
ped a  few  days  at  Shasta  City  and  believed  it  to  be  a 
better  mining  place  than  the  American  River,  and  urg- 
ed us  to  go  there.  Accordingly  we  yoked  up  our  oxen 
and  packed  our  belongings  into  the  wagons  again  and 
started.  When  we  reached  Sacramento  City  this  time, 
it  was  not  necessary  to  ask  where  the  city  was.  The 
whole  valley  was  covered  with  tents  and  lunch  stands. 


44  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

There  must  have  been  several  thousand  people  there. 
They  had  come  in  from  everywhere,  off  the  plains  by 
caravan,  up  the  river  from  San  Francisco  by  boat,  and 
from  every  other  place  in  the  world,  it  seemed  to  me. 
There  were  as  yet  no  houses.  People,  men  mostly, 
lived  in  tents  and  the  lunch  counters  consisted  of  the 
sideboards  of  the  wagons  laid  upon  poles  supported  by 
forks  driven  in  the  ground.  Meals  were  a  uniform  price, 
$1.00,  but  lodging  was  free.  Just  spread  your  blanket 
down  on  the  grass  anywhere  and  make  yourself  at 
home. 

Shasta  City  is  two  hundred  miles  up  Sacramento 
River  and  a  little  northwest  of  Sacramento  City. 
Knight's  Landing,  near  the  mouth  of  Feather  River,  was 
our  first  stop  of  any  consequence.  We  went  up  Feather 
River  to  where  Marysville  now  stands  and  thence  in  a 
northwesterly  direction  back  into  the  Sacramento  Val- 
ley. This  valley  is  about  an  average  of  twenty-five 
miles  in  width  and  at  that  time  there  were  no  towns  or 
even  camps  upon  it  and  consequently  I  can  give  little 
account  of  our  progress.  I  only  recall  that  about  every 
twenty  miles  we  came  upon  a  ranch  occupied  by  a  few 
families  of  Spaniards.  These  Spaniards  had  made 
slaves  of  the  Digger  Indians  who  lived  in  mounds  or 
huts  covered  with  earth.  The  Indians  raised  wheat 
and  gathered  it  in  cane  baskets.  They  then  rubbed  the 
wheat  out  of  the  straw  and  beat  it  into  flour.  These  In- 
dians went  almost  naked  and  lived,  themselves,  on  sal- 
mon, acorns,  grapes  and  grasshoppers.  They  were  the 
most  disgusting  mortals  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  life. 
When  we  passed  the  huts  or  mounds  in  which  they 
lived,  the  pappooses  would  dart  back  into  them  exact- 
ly like  prairie  dogs.  I  asked  an  old  Spaniard  why  he 
kept  these  filthy  Indians  around  him,  and  he  said  they 
protected  him  from  the  wild  Indians. 


GOLD  MINING  IN  '49  AND  '50  45 

The  whole  valley  was  covered  by  abundant  vege- 
tation and  was  full  of  wild  herds  of  Spanish  horses 
and  thousands  of  wild  Spanish  cattle.  It  was  also  full 
of  many  savage  wild  animals,  grizzly,  brown  and  black 
bear,  California  lions,  panthers,  wolves,  wild  cats  and 
badgers.  There  was  an  abundance  also  of  elk,  deer 
and  antelope,  and  we  never  lacked  for  fresh  venison. 

We  reached  Shasta  late  in  September,  and  like 
Sacramento  City,  found  everything  but  the  city.  One 
or  two  log  cabins  and  a  few  tents  made  up  the  sum  of 
all  the  improvements.  We  put  in  a  few  days  looking 
over  the  situation  and  viewing  prospects  for  getting 
gold  and  decided  to  spend  the  winter  there.  This  made 
it  necessary  for  us  to  look  immediately  into  our  stock 
of  provisions,  and  upon  going  through  it  we  found  that 
we  had  hardly  enough  to  last  us.  Nothing  could  be 
done  but  go  back  to  Sacramento  and  secure  an  addi- 
tional supply,  and  brother  William  and  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Gleason,  from  Iowa,  who  had  made  the  trip 
with  us  up  the  river,  started  back  with  one  wagon  and 
four  yoke  of  oxen.  We  stretched  our  tent  and  stored 
all  the  provisions  we  had  in  it  in  such  a  way  as  to 
protect  them,  and  brother  William  and  Gleason  bade 
us  good  by. 

This  trip  meant  four  hundred  miles  more  of  hard- 
ship and  danger,  and  we  hated  very  much  to  see  them 
leave,  but  nothing  else  could  be  done.  The  boys  made 
the  trip  down  without  trouble,  so  they  reported  upon 
their  return,  but  on  the  way  back  the  rainy  season  set 
in  and  swelled  the  rivers  so  that  they  were  past  fording 
much  of  the  time.  The  trip  ought  to  have  been  made 
easily  in  twenty-five  or  thirty  days,  but  it  occupied 
from  the  latter  part  of  September  until  Christmas. 

Hard  as  this  trip  was  upon  the  two  who  made  it, 
their  sufferings  were  hardly  to  be  compared  to  the 


46  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

condition  of  brother  James  and  myself.  We  had  but 
a  small  tent  in  which  to  shelter  both  ourselves  and  our 
provisions  and  such  meagre  equipment  as  we  had 
hauled  across  the  plains.  We  had  been  alone  but  a 
few  days  when  brother  James  was  taken  down  with 
the  scurvy.  About  the  10th  of  October  the  rain  set  in 
and  continued  almost  in  a  steady  downpour  for  about 
three  weeks.  Everything  was  completely  soaked.  It 
was  next  to  impossible  to  find  fuel  enough  to  start  a 
fire.  I  had  to  take  care  of  brother  James  and  keep 
changing  the  provisions  to  prevent  them  from  spoiling, 
had  to  dry  the  blankets  and  clothing  three  or  four  times 
a  day.  In  all,  I  don't  think  I  averaged  more  than  two 
hours  sleep  out  of  the  whole  twenty-four  during  this 
period  of  continued  rain.  I  battled  along  the  best  I 
could,  and  at  the  end  of  about  three  weeks  it  ceased 
to  rain  so  hard. 

I  shall  never  forget  two  friends  who  came  to  my 
rescue  at  this  time — Charles  Laffoon  and  Mike  Cody. 
Both  were  from  St.  Louis  and  had  run  a  dray  on  the 
wharf  on  the  Mississippi  River,  they  said.  They  had 
reached  Shasta  a  few  months  ahead  of  us  and  had 
built  a  log  cabin.  On  one  side  of  this  they  attached  a 
shed  which  they  used  for  a  cook  room  and  the  whole 
made  a  very  comfortable  dwelling.  Lately,  however, 
a  great  many  people  had  arrived  and  they  had  arrang- 
ed a  bar  at  one  end  of  the  main  cabin  and  fixed  up 
some  tables  at  the  other  for  a  poker  game.  Roth 
of  these  enterprises  proved  good  money  makers  and 
they  were  getting  along  fine.  After  it  had  been  rain- 
ing three  or  four  weeks,  Mike  came  up  to  our  tent  one 
morning.  He  saw  the  trouble  we  were  in  and  said  we 
must  not  stay  there.  I  told  him  I  knew  nothing  else  to 
do.  He  said  he  would  arrange  that  all  right;  that  he 
would  make  room  for  us  in  his  cabin.  He  didn't  even 


GOLD  MINING  IN  '49  AND  '50  47 

wait  for  an  answer,  but  set  to  work  packing  things  up. 
In  a  little  while  everything  we  had  was  moved  under 
a  roof.  He  fixed  a  bunk  in  the  shed  or  cook  room  for 
my  brother  and  brought  some  men  up  and  carried  him 
down  and  laid  him  on  it.  We  used  our  own  blankets 
of  course,  and  I  cooked  our  meals,  but  Mike  and  his 
partner  took  care  of  the  rest  of  it.  Everything  was  very 
quiet  in  the  day  time  when  the  men  were  out  working 
in  the  diggings,  but  at  night  things  were  mighty  lively 
—drinking,  gambling  and  fighting.  We  didn't  mind  all 
this,  for  it  was  so  much  better  than  the  leaky  old  tent 
we  had  put  up  with  for  so  long,  and  no  kinder  men 
ever  lived  than  Mike  Cody  and  Charles  Laffoon. 

Brother  William  and  Gleason  got  back  on  Christ- 
mas day,  worn  out  themselves  and  their  teams  in  worse 
condition.  It  was  still  raining.  They  had  had  a  dread- 
ful time,  high  water,  mud,  rain  and  no  shelter.  They 
had  to  expose  themselves  in  order  to  keep  the  pro- 
visions dry. 

A  cabin,  some  distance  away  from  the  cluster  of 
houses  which  was  called  the  town,  had  been  vacated, 
and  we  moved  in,  though  I  think  Cody  and  Laffoon 
would  have  arranged  in  some  way  to  accommodate  all 
of  us  in  their  eain'n  had  they  thought  we  could  do  no 
better.  The  cabin  was  fairly  comfortable.  It  had  a 
good  fire-place  and  a  good  roof,  and  these  were  the 
principal  necessities.  The  weather  was  not  very  cold, 
but  everything  was  so  entirely  saturated  that  fire  was 
even  more  necessary  than  if  the  weather  had  been 
cold.  We  had  room  in  the  cabin  for  our  cots  and 
provisions,  and  we  settled  down  about  the  first 
of  January  to  spend  the  winter.  We  drove  the  cattle 
ten  miles  down  the  river  to  Redding's  Ranch  and 
turned  them  loose  in  his  wild  herd  to  graze  until 
spring.  About  the  middle  of  January,  William  took 


48  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

the  scurvy.  James  had  improved  very  little,  so  I  now 
had  both  of  them  on  my  hands.  They  both  lay  there 
unable  to  walk  a  step  for  three  months.  There  was 
but  little  that  could  be  done  for  them,  but  I  had  a  great 
deal  on  my  hands  doing  even  that  and  was  thankful 
that  I  had  been  spared  from  the  disease  myself,  for 
if  I  had  taken  down  we  should  all  have  been  cast  upon 
the  generosity  of  the  wild,  rough  men  who  made  up 
that  camp.  I  had  no  fear,  however,  but  what  we  would 
be  taken  care  of.  During  the  latter  part  of  the  winter, 
I  was  taken  with  a  light  attack  of  the  same  disease. 
I  was  very  much  afraid  it  would  become  serious,  but 
I  did  not  get  down.  I  could  walk  flat  footed  on  my 
left  foot,  but  had  to  tip-toe  on  my  right,  and  all  through 
the  balance  of  the  winter  I  did  the  cooking,  provided 
the  wood,  and  ran  the  errands,  hobbling  along  the  best 
I  could. 

Besides  this,  we  were  somewhat  troubled  by  fi- 
nances. Everything  was  going  out  and  nothing  coming 
in.  Everybody  at  work  making  plenty  of  money,  but 
we  were  compelled  to  stay  in  this  cabin  and  spend  what 
we  had  made.  We  were  rich,  however,  in  provisions. 
Had  enough  to  last  us  a  year  and  they  were  worth  more 
than  gold.  I  remember  that  flour  was  worth  two  hun- 
dred dollars  a  sack,  and  most  everything  else  was  in 
proportion. 

Late  in  March  a  doctor  drifted  into  camp.  He 
heard  that  we  had  sickness  up  at  our  cabin  and  came 
up.  He  looked  my  brothers  over.  He  had  no  medicine 
and  there  was  very  little,  if  any,  in  the  camp.  He  pre- 
scribed raw  Irish  potatoes  sliced  in  vinegar.  We  had 
no  potatoes.  I  went  down  to  see  if  I  could  find  them 
in  camp.  I  hunted  the  place  over  and  could  not  find 
any.  I  was  going  home  discouraged  when  I  met  Mike 
Cody.  I  told  him  what  I  had  been  doing  and  he  said 


GOLD  MINING  IN  '49  AND  '50  49 

if  there  was  a  potato  in  California,  he  would  get  it 
for  me.  Next  morning  a  man  brought  a  bushel  up  to 
our  cabin  and  told  us  that  was  all  the  potatoes  in  that 
part  of  the  country.  I  asked  him  what  he  wanted  for 
them  and  he  said  they  were  paid  for.  When  I  asked 
him  who  paid  him  he  said  it  was  Mike  Cody.  I  then 
asked  what  he  got  for  them.  He  said  seventy-five  dol- 
lars. I  took  the  potatoes  and  fixed  them  up  as  the  doc- 
tor had  told  me  and  gave  them  to  the  boys.  In  a  few 
days  they  began  to  mend  and  in  two  or  three  weeks 
were  able  to  hobble  about  the  cabin,  and  by  the  first 
of  May  they  were  well  enough  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves nicely.  I  hadn't  forgotten  Mike  Cody  in  the  mean- 
time. I  went  down  one  day  and  told  Mike  I  wanted  to 
settle  for  the  potatoes  and  for  the  use  of  his  cabin 
the  early  part  of  the  winter.  He  said  "You  don't  owe 
me  anything  for  staying  at  the  cabin  and  the  potatoes 
were  a  present."  Said  if  he  could  do  anything  else, 
just  let  him  know.  I  thanked  him  the  best  I  could,  but 
he  told  me  that  he  didn't  want  any  thanks,  and  that  I 
must  not  feel  under  obligation  to  him.  He  reminded 
me  that  on  several  occasions  when  he  wanted  to  go 
out  in  town  and  have  a  good  time,  I  had  kept  his 
bar  and  run  his  poker  game  for  him,  and  said  that 
paid  for  everything  he  had  done  for  us.  I  knew  that 
was  only  an  excuse  to  keep  me  from  feeling  so  much 
in  debt  to  him,  but  I  let  it  go  at  that  and  never  lost  an 
opportunity  to  show  that  I  appreciated  what  he  had 
done. 

I  ought  to  mention,  probably,  my  experiences  as 
a  bar-keeper  and  manager  of  a  poker  game  on  the  few 
occasions  when  I  was  called  upon  to  assume  those 
responsible  positions.  The  bar  was  a  broad  plank 
which  rested  upon  supports  and  extended  clear  across 
one  end  of  the  cabin.  The  bottles  of  whiskey  and  bowls 


50  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

of  gold  dust  were  kept  on  this  plank.  Mike  sold  noth- 
ing and  had  nothing  to  sell  but  whiskey.  When  a 
man  wanted  a  drink  he  would  hand  me  over  his  sack 
of  gold  dust.  I  poured  out  the  price  of  a  drink  in 
the  scale  pan  and  put  it  over  in  the  bowl.  I  then  gave 
him  his  drink  and  handed  him  back  his  bag  of  gold 
dust.  The  poker  game  was  not  very  hard  to  manage. 
The  players  had  their  rules  and  kept  their  guns  close 
by  to  enforce  them.  This  made  everybody  very  cau- 
tious about  observing  the  rules  and  seeing  that  a  fair 
game  was  played.  As  long  as  the  fellows  remained 
sober  I  never  saw  any  trouble  over  these  games.  Some- 
times a  fellow  would  get  drunk  and  try  to  start  trouble 
and  he  usually  succeeded.  We  generally  saved  the 
lives  of  such  fellows  by  taking  them  immediately  away 
and  putting  them  to  bed. 

About  the  1st  of  May,  Gleason,  who  had  remained 
at  the  camp  all  winter,  and  I  rigged  up  a  couple  of 
pack  mules  and  went  over  to  Trinity  River,  thirty 
miles  west.  There  we  found  quite  a  prosperous  camp 
where  they  were  getting  a  good  deal  of  gold.  We  each 
took  up  a  claim  and  went  to  work,  and  got  quite  a 
quantity  of  gold.  About  the  1st  of  June,  James  and 
William,  who  by  that  time  were  able  to  ride  horse- 
back, came  over  and  they  each  took  a  claim.  By  the 
1st  of  August  we  had  worked  these  claims  pretty  well 
out  and  decided  to  go  on  to  Salmon  River,  forty  miles 
farther  west.  While  we  were  at  Trinity  River,  Alfred 
Jack  of  near  Camden  Point,  Platte  County,  came  in 
and  joined  us.  He  decided  to  go  on  with  us  to  Salmon 
River  and  we  all  packed  up  and  started.  The  trip  was 
without  incident,  except  that  over  toward  the  end  of 
our  journey  we  came  to  an  Indian  village.  We  rode  in 
toward  the  village  and  as  we  approached  we  saw  the 
bucks  all  running  away  as  fast  as  they  could,  leaving 


GOLD  MINING  IN  '49  AND  '50  51 

their  squaws  and  pappooses  behind.  This  was  strange 
behavior  and  we  wondered  what  it  meant.  When  we 
got  up  to  the  village,  we  found  a  white  horse  which 
they  had  just  shot  full  of  arrows.  This  looked  a  little 
dangerous  to  us.  We  didn't  know  the  meaning  of  this 
conduct  and  took  it  to  be  a  sign  of  war.  We 
passed  on  through  the  village,  hurried  after  the  Indians 
and  soon  overtook  them.  We  had  our  guns  and  plenty 
of  ammunition  and  were  pretty  well  prepared  for  a  fight 
with  them,  as  against  their  bows  and  arrows,  though 
they  greatly  outnumbered  us.  When  they  saw  we  were 
prepared  for  them  and  knowing  as  they  did  that  we 
had  not  harmed  their  squaws  and  pappooses,  they 
came  and  told  us  that  they  had  run  away  because 
their  dogs  had  run  at  sight  of  us.  They  didn't  explain 
why  they  had  shot  the  horse  full  of  arrows,  but  I  have 
always  been  of  the  opinion  they  intended  to  waylay 
and  kill  us  if  they  could. 

We  reached  Salmon  River  late  in  the  afternoon 
and  camped  for  the  night.  Next  morning  we  took  our 
picks,  shovels  and  pans  and  went  out  to  look  for  gold 
and  found  it.  By  noon  when  we  gathered  back  at  the 
camp  every  man  was  satisfied  to  make  permanent  camp 
and  remain  a  while.  We  were  the  first  in  this  immedi- 
ate section  of  the  country.  Other  parties  were  farther 
up  the  river  and  still  others  farther  down  the  river, 
but  we  found  no  evidences  at  all  that  any  white  men 
had  ever  been  in  this  particular  place.  We  seemed  to 
have  a  way  of  getting  in  ahead.  We  were  in  the  lead 
across  the  plains,  among  the  first  to  reach  Sacra- 
mento, about  the  first  at  Shasta  City,  and  Trinity  River, 
and  actually  the  first  on  Salmon  River.  We  were  not 
there  long,  however,  until  others  began  to  come  in, 
and  in  a  short  time  all  the  available  locations  for  placer 
mining  were  taken.  We  remained  some  six  weeks,  as 


52  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

I  recollect,  on  Salmon  River  and  panned  out  quite  a 
quantity  of  gold;  enough  to  pay  us  well  for  the  trip 
but  hardly  as  much  as  we  anticipated  we  would 
get  when  we  left  home,  after  hearing  the  reports 
that  came  to  us.  Still  we  were  satisfied  and  now  that 
we  all  had  good  health,  had  no  complaint  to  make. 
Some  one  who  came  into  our  camp  on  Salmon  River 
brought  the  word  that  our  brothers  were  coming  across 
the  plains  from  Missouri,  and  would  get  in  sometime 
in  September.  We  decided  to  go  back  and  meet  them, 
so  we  broke  camp  and  went  back  to  Shasta  City.  Here 
we  loaded  our  plunder  into  our  own  wagons  which  had 
been  left  during  our  absence,  and  after  procuring 
our  cattle  from  Redding's  Ranch — so  fat  and  sleek 
we  could  hardly  recognize  them,  we  set  out  down  Sac- 
ramento River.  The  trip  was  made  without  incident. 
It  was  the  dry  season  of  the  year.  There  was  plenty 
of  game,  plenty  for  the  cattle  to  eat,  and  no  trouble 
about  fording  the  river.  While  we  were  in  camp  one 
night  at  Knight's  Landing,  I  put  a  sack  of  dried  beef 
which  we  called  "jerky,"  under  the  back  part  of  my 
pillow  to  make  sure  the  coyotes  would  not  get  it.  In 
this  I  was  mistaken,  for  sometime  that  night  a  coyote 
came  up  and  helped  himself  and  we  had  no  jerky  for 
breakfast.  My  slumbers  were  not  disturbed  in  the  least 
by  the  burglar. 

A  little  farther  down  the  Sacramento  River,  while 
in  camp  one  night,  we  were  all  awakened  by  an  unu- 
sual noise.  The  camp  fire  was  burning  dimly  and  af- 
forded enough  light  for  us  to  see,  not  twenty  yards 
away,  a  huge  grizzly  bear.  He  was  sniffing  around 
picking  up  scraps  of  meat  and  bone  which  we  had 
thrown  away.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  quiet  excite- 
ment in  the  camp  over  the  discovery  of  this  guest,  but 
fortunately  everybody  had  sense  enough  to  keep  still. 


GOLD  MINING  IN  '49  AND  '50  53 

The  old  fellow  prowled  about  the  camp  for  a  long 
time.  Sometimes  he  would  get  right  up  by  the  fire 
and  then  we  had  a  good  look  at  him.  He  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  us  at  all.  Apparently  didn't  know  we  were  in 
the  neighborhood.  At  least  if  he  knew  it,  he  didn't 
let  on.  By  and  by,  after  satisfying  himself  that  there 
were  no  more  scraps,  he  walked  slowly  away  and  we 
could  hear  him  rattling  the  bushes  and  crushing  the 
dead  limbs  and  sticks  that  lay  upon  the  ground  for  a 
long  distance.  It  was  not  until  he  had  been  out  of 
hearing  for  quite  a  long  time  that  anybody  dared  to 
speak,  and  then  our  first  words  to  each  other  were  of 
congratulation.  We  hadn't  had  very  much  experience 
with  grizzly  bears  at  that  time  and  didn't  know  but 
what  the  old  fellow  might  have  attempted  to  piece 
out  his  meal  on  one  of  us.  We  were  glad  enough  when 
he  decided  to  go  and  hunt  up  some  more  bones  and 
scraps  and  let  us  alone. 

We  reached  Sacramento  City  about  September 
20th,  and  from  there  went  up  to  Salmon  Falls  on  the 
American  River,  where  we  found  our  brothers,  Isaac, 
Zach  and  Robert,  and  quite  a  company  of  our  Buchan- 
an County  acquaintances — Calvin  James,  Charles  Ram- 
sey and  his  family,  Perry  Jones,  William  Glenn,  James 
Glenn,  and  some  others  whom  I  do  not  at  this  moment 
recall.  Charles  Ramsey's  wife  was  the  first  white 
woman  I  had  seen  since  I  left  St.  Joseph,  May  2nd, 
1849. 

It  was  a  great  joy  to  us  to  meet  these  old  acquaint- 
ances and  to  feel  that  we  were  now  not  quite  so  lonely 
out  in  that  wild  country.  We  all  remained  in  camp  at 
Salmon  Falls  for  several  weeks.  During  this  time  the 
boys  looked  around  to  see  what  they  had  better  do. 
Chas.  Ramsey  and  Calvin  James  took  up  a  ranch  about 
thirty  miles  west  of  Sacramento  River  on  Cash  Creek. 


54  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

The  five  brothers  of  us  decided  that  the  best  thing  we 
could  do  was  to  take  up  a  ranch  also.  We  went  over  in- 
to the  same  neighborhood  and  squatted  on  a  body 
of  land.  There  was  no  law  prescribing  any  amount 
that  each  man  could  take,  and  the  grazing  land  was 
held  largely  in  common.  We  had  a  good  bunch  of 
cattle  and  horses  of  our  own  and  emigrants  were  con- 
tinually offering  their  teams  for  sale.  Isaac,  Zach  and 
Robert  had  brought  considerable  money  out  with  them, 
and  James,  William  and  myself  had  practically  all  the 
gold  we  had  cleaned  up  in  mining,  so  we  were  in  shape 
to  begin  the  cattle  business  on  a  pretty  good  scale.  By 
the  first  of  December  we  had  a  fine  herd  of  cattle, 
all  branded  with  our  particular  brand,  grazing  on  the 
pasture  along  Cash  Creek. 

We  built  a  cabin  close  to  the  cabin  that  James  and 
Ramsey  had  put  up,  and  staked  out  our  ranch.  There 
were  five  men  in  the  James  cabin  and  seven  in  ours — ' 
six  Gibson  brothers  and  Eli  Wilson.  The  whole  valley 
of  Cash  Creek  as  well  as  much  of  the  valley  of  Sacra- 
mento River,  was  covered  with  wild  oats.  Red  clover 
grew  wild  and  there  were  many  other  grasses  just  as 
good  for  cattle. 

We  had  plenty  of  flour,  sugar,  coffee  and  such 
other  common  groceries  as  were  to  be  had  in  the  mar- 
kets at  Sacramento.  It  had  cost  quite  a  sum  of  money 
to  get  these  provisions — I  do  not  remember  just  how 
much,  but  it  was  fabulous  almost,  and  the  only  conso- 
lation we  got  was  out  of  the  fact  that  we  didn't  have 
to  buy  meat.  We  had  our  own  cattle  if  we  wanted 
beef,  but  there  was  no  need  even  for  that  when  venison 
was  so  plentiful. 

It  must  have  been  sometime  during  the  first  of 
December  that  we  organized  a  hunt  for  the  purpose 
of  laying  in  a  good  supply  of  meat  for  the  winter.  We 


GOLD  MINING  IN  '49  AND  '50  55 

rigged  up  ten  pack  mules,  went  to  the  mountains  a 
few  miles  distant  and  camped.  From  this  camp  we 
conducted  our  hunting  expedition  and  in  a  few  days 
had  more  than  enough  venison  to  last  through  the  win- 
ter. We  killed  elk,  deer  and  antelope  enough  to  load 
our  train.  Part  of  this  we  took  down  to  Sacramento 
and  traded  it  for  other  provisions.  We  felt  that  we 
could  get  meat  any  time  when  we  had  to  have  it,  but 
might  not  be  able  to  get  other  provisions,  and  that  an 
extra  supply  would  make  us  feel  more  comfortable. 

The  grazing  was  fine  all  through  the  winter.  The 
climate,  as  every  one  knows,  is  not  cold  and  the  one 
discomfort  was  the  continued  rain,  but  this  had  its 
compensations.  When  the  rivers  and  sloughs  filled 
up  with  water,  the  wild  ducks  and  wild  geese  came 
in  to  feed  upon  the  wild  oats.  We  had  little  to  do  but 
look  after  our  cattle  and  think  about  what  we  would 
like  to  eat.  If  we  decided  in  the  morning  to  have 
duck  or  goose,  some  one  took  the  gun,  went  out  and 
brought  back  just  what  we  had  decided  upon.  The 
rivers  were  full  of  the  finest  fish  and  they  were 
no  trouble  to  catch  at  all,  so  when  we  wanted  fish,  it 
was  at  hand.  I  have  never  lived  at  any  place  in  my  life 
where  I  felt  so  sure  of  provisions  as  in  that  cabin 
during  that  winter.  We  had  four  large  greyhounds 
that  had  come  across  the  plains  with  some  of  the  emi- 
grants and  we  picked  them  up  as  company  We 
trained  them  to  hunt  bear — that  is  the  bear  soon  train- 
ed them.  It  was  no  trouble  to  get  them  to  trail  bear. 
They  seemed  to  do  this  by  instinct,  but  seemed  not  al- 
ways to  be  sure  of  the  kind  of  animal  they  were  after. 
I  judged  this  by  watching  them  tackle  the  bear  after 
they  had  overtaken  it.  They  would  dash  in  with  as 
much  confidence  as  if  he  were  a  jack  rabbit  or  a  coyote 
and  showed  plainly  that  they  proposed  to  take  him  in 


56  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

and  annihilate  him  at  once.  They  would  also  show  a 
good  deal  of  surprise  when  the  old  bear  would  rise  up 
on  his  hind  feet  and  box  them  ten  feet  away.  They  soon 
learned  to  keep  their  distance  and  play  with  the  bear, 
keeping  him  standing  on  his  hind  feet,  watching  them 
until  we  could  come  up  close  enough  to  get  a  shot. 
That  always  ended  it.  Sometimes  the  bear  would 
take  to  a  tree.  In  either  case  we  always  got  him.  These 
dogs  were  great  company  for  us.  If  we  happened  not 
to  want  any  bear  meat,  we  would  take  the  dogs  and 
chase  jack-rabbits  and  coyotes.  They  were  pretty 
swift  dogs,  but  it  was  seldom  that  they  could  pick  up 
a  jack-rabbit,  and  rarely  ever  got  a  coyote  on  a  straight 
run,  but  we  had  as  much  fun  and  more  probably  than 
if  the  dogs  had  been  able  to  pick  them  up  right  along. 
Thus  passed  the  winter  of  '50  and  '51 — as  pleasant  a 
period  as  I  recall  during  my  whole  life.  By  the  spring 
and  early  summer  of  '51  our  cattle  were  fat  and  fine 
and  ready  to  be  sold  for  beef.  We  peddled  them  out 
to  the  butchers  and  miners  along  the  Sacramento  and 
American  Rivers.  They  brought  us  an  average  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  head.  By  the  first  of  July 
they  were  all  gone  and  we  began  to  look  for  emigrants' 
cattle  to  re-stock  the  ranch.  We  supposed  that  emi- 
gration across  the  plains  would  continue  and  in  order 
to  get  first  chance  at  cattle  that  might  be  for  sale,  we 
loaded  up  our  pack  mules,  crossed  the  Sierra  Nevada 
Mountains,  and  went  down  Carson  River  to  Humboldt 
Desert.  We  were  greatly  surprised  to  find  only  a  few 
straggling  emigrant  trains  coming  in  and  most  of  these 
were  bent  on  settlement  rather  than  mining  and  had 
brought  their  families.  Of  course,  they  had  no  cattle 
to  sell.  We  waited  until  the  latter  part  of  July,  and 
when  we  became  convinced  that  no  cattle  were  com- 
ing we  had  to  determine  the  next  best  thing  to  do. 


GOLD  MINING  IN  '49  AND  '50  57 

The  grazing  of  cattle  had  proved  so  much  more 
to  our  liking  than  digging  gold  that  we  wanted  to  con- 
tinue in  that  business,  but  we  couldn't  do  it  without 
cattle.  We  thought  about  the  thousands  of  cattle  back 
in  Missouri  that  might  be  had  for  ten  or  fifteen  dollars 
a  head,  and  decided  to  return  across  the  plains  and 
during  the  winter  gather  up  a  herd  and  take  it  back 
the  following  summer.  This  plan  seemed  to  suit  best. 
Brother  William  was  not  in  the  best  of  health  and 
didn't  feel  equal  to  the  task  of  crossing  the  plains,  so 
it  was  agreed  that  he  and  Eli  Wilson  would  stay  with 
the  ranch  and  take  care  of  things  during  the  year  and 
that  the  rest  of  us  would  go  back. 


CHAPTER   IV. 
Back  Across  the  Plains. 

It  was  now  close  to  the  first  of  August,  1851.  We 
were  camped  at  the  western  side  of  the  fifty-mile 
desert  which  gave  us  so  much  trouble  on  our  way  over. 
We  had  packed  provisions  and  equipment  sufficient 
only  to  take  us  across  the  Sierra  Nevada  Mountains  and 
back.  We  always  allowed  for  emergency  and  put  in 
plenty.  The  question  now  was  whether  we  were  well 
enough  equipped  to  start  on  a  long  journey  back  across 
the  plains.  We  made  an  inventory  of  our  stock  of  pro- 
visions and  supplies,  and  decided  that  we  could  make 
it.  Brother  William  and  Wilson  took  only  a  small 
quantity  of  supplies  with  them  on  their  return  journey. 
They  were  going  into  a  country  where  plenty  was  to 
be  found,  and  if  they  ran  low,  it  would  make  no  great 
difference.  With  us  it  was  different.  We  had  no  as- 
surances that  we  could  get  supplies  of  any  kind  at 
any  point  on  the  journey,  at  least  not  until  we  reached 
the  outposts  near  St.  Joseph. 

As  already  related,  we  had  carried  our  supplies 
from  home  on  pack  mules.  We  had  no  wagons  or 
oxen  with  us  and  had  to  arrange  to  make  the  entire 
journey  carrying  our  provisions  and  camp  equipment 
on  the  mules. 

After  getting  everything  ready  we  bade  goodby 
to  brother  William  and  Wilson,  and  started  early  in 
the  morning.  We  entered  at  once  upon  the  fifty-mile 
desert  and  traveled  that  day  and  all  the  following 
night.  Our  mules  made  better  progress  than  the  ox 
teams,  and  we  reached  the  Carson  Sink  a  little  after 
daylight  where  we  found  water.  We  also  fell  in  with 


BACK  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  59 

four  men  who  said  they  had  started  to  Salt  Lake,  but 
had  heard  from  the  passing  emigrants  that  the  Indians 
were  on  the  war  path  ahead  and  were  afraid  to  go 
any  farther  alone  and  were  waiting  for  company. 
We  had  heard  the  same  story,  so  concluded  their  ex- 
cuse for  being  there  was  a  good  one  and  that  they  had 
no  designs  upon  unwary  emigrants.  We  sized  them  all 
up  and  decided  to  take  them  into  our  company.  Three 
of  them  were  brothers  whose  names  were  Kilgore.  The 
fourth  was  a  German  whose  name  I  have  forgotten. 
They  all  lived  in  Iowa.  They  seemed  very  much  fright- 
ened at  the  idea  of  going  on,  and  suggested  that  we 
wait  for  further  reinforcements.  We  told  them  we 
had  no  time  to  waste  and  that  we  were  going  on  and 
they  could  join  us  if  they  wanted  to.  They  finally  con- 
sented, rigged  up  their  outfit  and  made  ready.  We 
traveled  up  the  Humboldt  River  over  the  old  road 
until  we  reached  the  head  waters  of  that  stream. 
There  were  three  roads  open  to  us  from  this  point. 
One  to  Fort  Hall  on  Snake  River,  a  middle  road  which 
had  been  blazed  since  we  came  over,  called  Hedge- 
path's  cut-off,  and  the  South  road  to  Salt  Lake.  We 
took  the  Salt  Lake  road,  though  it  was  new  to  all  of  us. 
We  struck  Bear  River,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  from  Salt  Lake,  crossed  it  and  traveled  down 
the  East  side  to  Weaverville  and  then  on  to  Ogden. 
Here  we  rested  a  few  days  and  had  our  mules  and 
horses  shod. 

The  day  after  we  camped,  Brigham  Young  paid  us 
a  visit.  He  asked  us  many  questions,  but  we  gave  him 
little  satisfaction.  We  had  ten  thousand  dollars  in 
gold  with  us  and  hadn't  any  confidence  in  the  Mor- 
mons, so  we  kept  close  watch.  A  day  or  two  after  this, 
we  took  our  mules  and  started  to  Salt  Lake  City.  About 
twenty  miles  out  on  our  journey  we  met  a  large  ve- 


60  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

hicle  drawn  by  eight  big  white  horses,  a  driver  on  top, 
and  a  great  many  women  and  one  man  inside.  I  recog- 
nized the  man  as  Brigham  Young,  but  said  nothing. 
A  little  farther  on  we  overtook  a  man  in  the  road  and 
I  asked  him  who  the  man  and  all  the  women  were  that 
we  had  met  back  on  the  road.  He  said  it  was  Brigham 
Young  and  twenty  of  his  wives. 

We  made  a  short  stop  at  Salt  Lake.  There  seemed 
to  be  but  one  road  out  of  the  valley  in  which  the  city 
is  situated  and  that  led  us  south  about  ten  miles,  thence 
east  through  a  steep,  rough  canyon.  It  was  at  the  mouth 
of  that  canyon  where  the  Mormons  later  built  the  wall 
to  resist  the  government  soldiers.  The  road  through  the 
canyon  led  us  finally  to  the  top  of  a  high  range  of 
mountains.  Passing  over  this  and  down  the  eastern 
slope,  we  came  to  Ft.  Bridger  on  Black  Fork  of  Green 
River.  We  followed  this  stream  down  to  the  main 
prong  of  Black  River  and  went  thence  northeasterly  to 
Green  River,  thence  up  a  prong  of  that  river  until  we 
reached  the  divide  at  South  Pass.  Here,  after  four 
hundred  miles  over  a  strange  road  and  over  wild  and 
rugged  mountains  and  deserts,  we  came  again  to  the 
Oregon  Trail,  and  found  a  familiar  road. 

This  portion  of  the  road  is  now  familiar  also  to  the 
reader.  It  led  down  Sweetwater,  past  Independence 
Rock  and  Devil's  Gate  to  North  Platte  River.  Just 
after  we  crossed  the  North  Platte,  we  stopped  for  din- 
ner. We  had  eaten  our  meal  and  were  resting  when 
we  saw  what  appeared  to  be  a  band  of  Indian  ponies 
back  across  the  river  and  about  a  mile  away.  We  could 
not  tell  whether  Indians  were  upon  the  ponies  or  not, 
but  there  was  little  doubt  in  our  minds  but  that  there 
were.  We  packed  our  mules  hurriedly,  saddled  our 
horses,  and  started  on  and  had  made  but  a  short  dis- 
tance when  three  Indians  came  running  up  in  our  rear 


BACK  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  61 

on  foot.  They  had  dodged  out  from  behind  a  boulder 
somewhere  along  the  road.  They  appeared  to  be  quite 
friendly.  They  said  "How,  How,"  and  pointed  to  the 
good  grass  along  the  road.  By  these  signs  we  under- 
stood that  they  wanted  us  to  camp  and  were  recom- 
mending the  place  to  us.  All  this  time  the  ponies  were 
getting  closer  to  us  and  all  doubt  that  Indians  were  upon 
them  was  removed.  When  the  three  saw  that  we  were 
not  going  to  stop,  one  of  them  grabbed  the  bit  of  the 
horse  ridden  by  one  of  the  Kilgore  boys  and  attempted 
to  hold  it.  Kilgore  threw  his  gun  down  at  the  Indian, 
who  loosed  his  hold  and  ran  back.  One  of  the  three 
during  this  performance  dropped  behind  and  raised 
a  sort  of  flag.  At  this  the  whole  band  of  ponies  start- 
ed towards  us  and  every  pony  had  a  red-skin  on  his 
back  lying  close  down  to  the  pony's  neck.  They  came 
galloping  as  fast  as  the  ponies  could  carry  them  and 
in  single  file.  As  they  came  closer  we  saw  that 
they  were  all  painted  up  in  war  style  with  black 
feathers  plaited  in  their  hair.  There  must  have  been 
twenty-five  or  thirty  of  them,  and  there  were  nine  of 
us — five  Gibsons,  three  Kilgores,  and  the  Dutchman. 
This  Dutchman  rode  in  a  little  cart  while  the  rest  of  us 
were  on  horse-back.  We  had  eight  pack  mules  loaded 
with  our  camp  equipment  and  provision,  and  they  had 
to  be  taken  care  of. 

We  put  the  pack  mules  abreast  and  pushed  them 
directly  ahead  of  us.  The  first  Indians  to  reach  us  ap- 
peared to  be  very  friendly,  as  if  they  could  deceive 
anybody  by  that  old  ruse.  They  said  "How,  How,"  and 
appeared  to  be  very  anxious  for  our  welfare.  Their 
purpose  in  this,  it  was  plain  enough  to  see,  was  to  al- 
low their  companions  all  to  come  up.  When  the  last 
of  their  party  caught  up  they  all  set  up  a  great  yell 


62  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

and  made  a  dash  to  get  between  us  and  our  pack  mules. 
Every  man  in  our  company  drew  his  navy  and  each 
man  pointed  at  a  different  Indian.  We  had  the  drop 
on  them.  They  had  not  drawn  the  guns  which  some 
of  them  had  or  the  bows  and  arrows  which  others  car- 
ried, and  the  first  attempt  to  draw  a  weapon  meant 
a  dead  Indian  and  they  knew  it,  so  they  halted  and  fell 
back.  As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  the  way  we  moved 
up  and  formed  a  ring  around  the  pack  mules,  facing 
outward.  This  seemed  to  please  them  wonderfully, 
for  they  started  galloping  around  us,  yelling  and  going 
through  all  manner  of  ferocious  maneuvers,  but  ap- 
parently never  getting  in  a  position  where  they  could 
draw  a  weapon.  As  soon  as  we  had  surrounded  our 
mules,  Zach  and  Robert  slipped  off  their  horses  and 
coupled  all  the  mules  together.  This  would  keep  them 
from  scattering  out.  In  a  moment  the  boys  were  back 
in  their  saddles  and  back  in  the  ring  facing  outward. 
The  Dutchman  in  his  cart  was  outside  of  our  ring.  He 
was  very  much  agitated  for  a  time  for  fear  he  would 
get  cut  off  from  us  and  be  taken  by  the  Indians.  He 
managed  to  dash  in,  however,  and  get  right  close  to 
our  line  and  stop  his  horse.  This  gave  him  a  chance 
to  get  out  his  double  barrel  shot  gun  which  he  car- 
ried in  the  cart  and  get  ready  for  action. 

This  milling  and  yelling,  around  and  around,  must 
have  kept  up  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes.  We  didn't 
want  to  kill  any  of  them,  but  we  didn't  propose  they 
should  get  any  advantage  of  us,  and  every  man  was 
on  guard.  By  and  by,  Robert  and  Zach,  who  faced  the 
road  ahead,  put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  broke 
through  the  ring,  Robert  turning  on  the  Indians  to  the 
right  and  Zach  to  the  left,  each  with  a  navy  in  each 
hand  and  the  bridle  reins  in  his  mouth.  This  caused 
the  Indians  to  break  up  the  milling  and  hurry  to  the 


BACK  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  63 

rear  in  order  to  keep  their  forces  together.  At  the 
moment  when  they  started  back,  two  of  our  men  put 
whip  to  the  mules  and  forced  them  out  through  the 
gap  as  fast  as  they  could  gallop.  The  rest  of  us  stood 
firm  and  steady,  holding  our  guns  on  the  Indians.  We 
held  them  in  this  manner  until  the  mules  were  well 
out  of  the  way,  then  turned  and  galloped  after  them. 
We  knew  all  the  time  that  we  had  the  Indians  bluffed. 
They  couldn't  get  any  advantage  of  us  and  they  would 
not  fight  in  the  open.  They  stood  completely  still  af- 
.ter  we  left  them  and  continued  to  watch  us  as  long 
as  we  were  in  sight. 

We  made  good  haste  that  afternoon  and  traveled 
late.  By  6:00  o'clock  we  were  twenty-five  miles  away, 
and  after  supper  we  pressed  forward  until  mid- 
night. We  counted  that  this  put  us  a  safe  distance 
away,  but  to  make  still  more  certain  of  our  position, 
we  rode  off  from  the  trail  about  a  mile  to  camp.  At 
daylight  we  were  moving  again  and  the  next  day  at 
noon  reached  Ft.  Laramie.  Perhaps  this  haste  and 
forced  marching  were  all  unnecessary,  but  in  dealing 
with  the  Indians,  it  is  a  good  idea  to  put  just  as  much 
distance  as  you  can  between  yourself  and  them.  Ft. 
Laramie  offered  us  the  first  real  security  we  had  known 
since  we  crossed  the  Continental  Divide.  The  whole 
territory,  especially  between  Platte  River  and  Ft.  Lara- 
mie, was  infested  with  the  worst  bands  of  Indians  then 
known  to  emigrants,  and  many  trains  had  been  rob- 
bed and  the  members  killed  on  this  portion  of  the 
journey. 

We  found  sixty  thousand  Indians  at  Ft.  Laramie 
to  draw  their  pay  from  the  government.  All  were 
camped  across  the  river  north  of  the  Fort.  As  we  left 
Ft.  Laramie  we  rode  over  and  stopped  for  our  mid-day 
meal.  They  gathered  around  us,  made  signs,  tried  to 


64  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

swap  ponies  with  us  and  pretended  to  be,  and  were  in 
fact  at  that  time,  very  friendly  with  us.  I  remember  an 
amusing  incident  that  occurred  at  this  time.  Brother 
Isaac  had  a  little  Spanish  mule  which  he  offered  to  the 
Indians  for  a  pony.  The  Indians  asked  if  the  mule  was 
gentle.  Isaac  told  them  it  was  perfectly  so,  and  in  order 
to  prove  it,  he  jumped  upon  the  mule  bareback  and 
with  nothing  but  a  halter  to  control  it  by.  The  mule 
had  carried  a  pack  all  the  way  from  Sacramento,  but 
this  was  a  new  experience.  He  immediately  bowed 
his  back,  stuck  his  head  down  between  his  knees,  and 
began  bucking.  In  a  twinkle,  Isaac  was  rolling  ten 
feet  away  in  the  sand.  I  never  saw  anything  give  as 
much  delight  as  this  gave  the  Indians.  They  whooped 
and  yelled  and  kept  it  up.  Now  and  then  it  would 
subside  and  then  break  out  again.  We  joined  the  In- 
dians and  laughed  as  heartily  as  they;  everybody  en- 
joyed it  but  brother  Isaac.  It  was  like  most  funny 
things,  no  fun  at  all  to  somebody. 

About  2:00  o'clock  we  started  down  North  Platte. 
The  soldiers  warned  us  to  look  out  for  scouting  parties 
of  Indians,  and  our  own  experience  told  us  this  was 
good  advice.  We  met  with  no  trouble,  however,  and 
reached  the  mouth  of  South  Platte  in  good  time.  On 
this  ride  from  Ft.  Laramie  to  South  Platte  I  think  we 
must  have  seen  hundreds  of  thousands  of  buffalo. 
They  were  so  tame  they  would  hardly  give  us  the  road. 
We  had  all  the  good  buffalo  beef  we  wanted  every 
meal.  A  while  before  camping  time,  one  of  our  party 
would  ride  ahead,  pick  out  a  good  place  where  water 
and  fuel  could  be  had.  He  would  then  ride  out  to  the 
closest  buffalo  herd,  pick  out  a  fat  yearling,  shoot  it, 
and  have  it  ready  when  we  came  up.  It  was  short 
work  to  make  a  fire,  make  our  bread,  make  the  coffee 
and  broil  a  fine  buffalo  steak.  I  have  never  enjoyed 


BACK  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  65 

any  meals  in  my  life  more  than  these.  There  was  only 
one  trouble  about  this  method  of  getting  our  meat— 
the  wolves  kept  us  awake  most  of  the  night 
fighting  over  the  carcass.  In  order  to  avoid  this  we 
usually  dragged  the  carcass  out  of  hearing  of  the  camp. 
On  the  trip  down  from  Ft.  Laramie  we  noticed  one 
day  a  great  herd  of  buffalo  far  in  front  of  us  and  a 
little  to  the  right  of  the  trail,  which  seemed  to  be  graz- 
ing on  the  hillside  in  a  circle.  As  we  came  nearer 
we  made  out  the  situation  more  clearly.  Hundreds  of 
them  grazing,  heads  outward,  formed  a  complete 
circle  in  which  there  must  have  been  a  thousand  little 
calves  all  lying  down.  On  the  opposite  hillside  a  half 
mile  away,  we  saw  about  twenty  savage  wolves  watch- 
ing the  herd.  The  buffalo  were  watching  also.  They 
knew  the  wolves  were  there  and  they  were  protecting 
their  calves  against  them. 

When  we  reached  Ft.  Kearney  we  learned  that  the 
Indians  on  Little  Blue  were  on  the  war  path,  so  kept 
on  down  Platte  River  fifty  or  sixty  miles  farther,  and 
then  passed  across  the  country  where  Lincoln  now 
stands,  and  reached  the  Missouri  River  at  old  Ft.  Kear- 
ney, where  Nebraska  City  is  now  situated.  We  crossed 
the  Missouri  River  into  Iowa  and  thence  down  the 
east  side  of  the  river.  About  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon one  day,  we  crossed  the  Missouri  line,  journeyed 
on  to  night,  and  went  into  camp  without  a  guard,  the 
first  in  three  months.  We  passed  Jackson's  Point  and 
Oregon,  in  Holt  County,  and  reached  Jimtown,  Andrew 
County,  where  we  stopped  for  the  night  with  Drury 
Moore,  a  cousin  of  ours,  and  slept  in  a  bed,  the  first  in 
three  years.  Next  day  we  reached  home. 

We  rode  up,  driving  our  pack  mules  loaded  with 
blankets,  bread  pans,  frying  pans,  coffee  pots,  tin  cups, 
and  sacks  of  provisions;  hair  and  beard  long  and  un- 


66  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

kempt  and  tanned  as  brown  as  Indians.  Mother,  sister 
Mary  and  brother  Isaac's  wife  were  the  only  members 
of  the  family  at  home  and  they  came  out  on  the  portico 
of  the  house  to  watch  us.  They  were  not  expecting  us 
for  two  years,  and  of  course,  thought  the  caravan  they 
saw  belonged  to  strangers.  When  we  began  climbing 
off  our  horses  and  fastening  the  pack  mules  to  the 
fence,  they  fell  back  into  the  house.  We  hitched,  got 
over  the  fence,  and  walked  up  to  the  door  without  be- 
ing recognized.  In  fact,  we  had  a  real  hard  time  con- 
vincing them  that  we  were  really  ourselves,  and  I  am 
not  very  much  surprised  that  they  should  not  have 
known  us.  The  dirt,  sand,  wind,  sun  and  the  grimy  life 
we  had  led  for  more  than  six  weeks  without  a  shave 
or  a  hair  cut  was  enough  to  disguise  us. 

We  reached  home  about  the  middle  of  September, 
1851.  It  was  a  delightful  thing  to  be  at  home  once 
more,  but  in  order  to  carry  out  our  plans  we  had  little 
time  to  spare  during  this  season  of  the  year.  Prairie 
hay  grew  in  great  quantities  on  the  old  farm  and  it 
was  now  in  perfect  condition  to  be  cut  and  cured.  We 
rested  only  a  day  or  two,  then  sharpened  up  the  scythes 
and  went  to  work.  We  cut  and  cured  twenty  or  thirty 
tons  of  this  hay  in  order  that  we  might  have  something 
to  feed  the  cattle  on  as  we  collected  them  together. 
After  this  was  done,  we  had  a  good  long  period  of  rest. 
Christmas  came  and  we  entered  into  the  fun  with  the 
young  folks.  I  think  I  shall  never  forget  this  winter 
at  home. 

About  the  first  of  January,  1852,  we  began  buying 
cattle  and  kept  it  up  throughout  the  remainder  of  the 
winter.  By  the  first  of  May  we  had  five  hundred  and 
fifty  head  collected  upon  the  old  farm  ready  to  start. 


CHAPTER   V. 
Across  the  Plains  With  Cattle. 

The  first  days  of  May  found  us  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  at  the  mouth  of  Black  Snake.  Most  of  the 
men  went  along  with  the  first  load  of  cattle  ferried 
across  the  river.  As  the  cattle  were  driven  out  on  the 
farther  shore,  the  men  corralled  them  and  held  them 
on  a  sand-bar  to  await  the  slow  process  of  bringing 
the  whole  herd  across.  Elwood  bottom  at  that  time 
was  a  perfect  wilderness  of  timber  with  only  an  Indian 
trail  leading  through  it  out  as  far  as  Peter's  Creek. 
After  much  delay,  the  last  of  the  herd  was  ferried  over 
and  then  came  the  wagons,  oxen,  horses  and  mules. 

There  were  twenty-five  men  in  charge  of  this 
drove  of  cattle.  Each  man  had  a  horse,  and  besides 
this,  we  had  a  number  of  mules.  We  took  three  wagon 
loads  of  provisions  and  had  four  yoke  of  oxen  to  each 
wagon.  This  comprised  the  outfit. 

The  Indians  occupied  the  land  on  the  Kansas  side 
of  the  river  and  they  came  down  to  see  us  cross.  They 
were  peaceable  and  harmless,  and  did  not  mean  to  give 
us  any  trouble.  They  would  come  up  close  to  the  trail, 
and  stand  and  stare  at  the  cattle,  and  this  was  about 
as  bad  a  thing  as  could  have  been  done.  I  don't  know 
why  it  is,  but  cattle  never  liked  Indians.  The  whole 
herd  would  pass  a  white  man  without  paying  any  at- 
tention to  him,  but  if  an  Indian  stood  by  the 
wayside  where  the  cattle  could  see  him,  he  would 
create  a  great  commotion,  and  frequently,  unless  the 
greatest  care  was  observed,  a  stampede  would  follow. 


68  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

The  cattle  were  not  used  to  traveling,  and  we  ex- 
perienced our  greatest  trouble  the  first  week  out.  We 
had  not  only  the  Indians  to  contend  with,  but  we  had 
to  break  the  cattle  to  drive,  and  the  brush  and  timber 
were  so  thick  that  every  man  in  the  company  had  to  be 
on  the  watch  to  keep  from  losing  some  of  the  herd.  The 
men  were  as  green  as  the  cattle,  and  with  all  these  hin- 
drances we  made  slow  progress  the  first  period  of  our 
journey.  At  the  end  of  about  a  week  or  ten  days,  and 
after  we  had  reached  the  high  prairie,  things  began  to 
settle  down.  The  men  learned  their  duties  and  the 
cattle  had  apparently  been  as  apt  as  the  men.  They 
understood  exactly  what  was  before  them  when  the 
start  was  made  in  the  morning.  One  of  our  company 
always  rode  ahead  and  it  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  all 
the  cattle  break  away  from  grazing  and  start  out  after 
this  leader  as  soon  as  the  men  began  to  crack  their 
whips  and  call  to  them. 

We  made  no  haste.  The  grazing  was  good  and  the 
water  plentiful,  and  we  wanted  our  cattle  to  get  in  as 
good  condition  as  possible  before  they  reached  the 
desert  part  of  the  journey.  Ten  or  fifteen  miles  a  day 
was  counted  a  good  day's  drive.  At  this  rate,  there 
was  plenty  of  time  for  grazing  and  rest.  The  new  men 
with  us  were  impatient  to  go  faster,  but  those  of  us 
who  had  been  over  the  journey  knew  too  well  the 
trials  ahead  to  permit  haste  on  this  part  of  the 
road.  We  wanted  to  save  our  strength  in  order  that 
we  might  make  haste  across  the  mountains  and  the 
alkali  that  lay  between  us  and  the  end  of  our  journey. 

At  Little  Blue  we  overtook  a  train  lying  in  camp, 
and  learned  that  Cholera  had  broken  out,  and  that 
several  deaths  had  occurred.  An  old  man  by  the  name 
of  Frost  came  out  to  where  we  were  and  said  he  had 
been  waiting  for  us;  that  he  had  heard  we  would 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  WITH  CATTLE  69 

be  on  the  road  this  year,  and  when  misfortune  and 
sickness  overtook  his  train,  he  decided  to  wait  for  us. 
He  lived  on  Grand  River,  and  his  son  had  died  of  the 
Cholera,  and  we  wanted  to  take  the  body  back  home. 
He  said  he  had  enough  of  the  plains  and  didn't  care  to 
spend  the  remainder  of  his  days  amid  such  hardships. 
He  had  forty  head  of  choice  dairy  cows  and  asked  us 
to  buy  them.  We  told  him  we  had  no  money  for  that 
purpose  with  us.  He  said  he  didn't  want  the  money, 
if  we  would  give  him  our  note  it  would  be  good  enough 
for  him.  We  accordingly  gave  him  a  note  for  six  hun- 
dred dollars  and  he  turned  his  little  herd  over  to  us. 

Brother  Isaac  decided  to  return  with  Mr.  Frost 
and  wait  until  he  heard  from  us,  and  if  we  succeeded 
in  getting  our  cattle  through  without  difficulty,  he 
would  bring  another  herd  the  next  year.  Within  a 
week  after  Isaac  left,  brother  William,  who  had  made 
the  trip  home  by  way  of  Panama  and  New  York,  over- 
took us  with  a  drove  about  equal  in  number  to  ours. 
We  combined  the  two  and  all  moved  together,  thence- 
forth throughout  the  journey. 

I  may  anticipate  a  little  here  and  say  that  after 
arriving  in  California,  we  sent  the  money  back  to  take 
up  our  note  given  for  the  forty  cows.  It  reached  our 
father  and  he  communicated  with  Mr.  Frost,  paid  him 
the  money  and  took  up  the  note.  It  was  pretty  slow 
business,  but  it  was  accomplished  without  difficulty. 

When  the  two  herds  of  cattle  and  two  companies 
of  men  were  joined  together,  they  made  quite  a  cara- 
van. A  good  many  Buchanan  County  boys  made  the 
trip  with  us,  among  them  were  James  and  Russell 
Deakins,  Joe  and  Sebastian  Kessler,  Rufus  Huffman 
and  a  man  by  the  name  of  Streeter,  who  went  along  as 
cook  in  brother  William's  company.  There  were  many 
others,  but  I  cannot  now  recall  their  names. 


70  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

We  journeyed  without  incident  that  I  now  recall 
until  we  reached  Plum  Creek,  which  I  have  described 
in  the  account  of  my  first  trip  out.  Close  to  this  place 
the  wolves  attacked  our  cattle  one  night  and  caught  a 
fine  cow  and  a  heifer,  and  before  we  could  relieve  them 
tore  their  flanks  so  dreadfully  that  they  both  died. 
The  bellowing  of  these  two  raised  the  whole  herd  and 
came  near  creating  a  stampede.  It  was  a  very 
dark  night.  The  entire  company  got  out  upon  horse- 
back and  rounded  up  the  cattle,  and  kept  galloping 
around  them  the  remainder  of  the  night,  firing  their 
guns  to  frighten  away  the  wolves.  It  is  a  wonder  we 
didn't  have  more  trouble  with  wolves  than  we  did. 
The  buffalo  had  all  gone  south  and  had  not  returned, 
and  the  wolves  were  savagely  hungry  and  would  attack 
most  anything  that  offered  them  a  chance  of  securing 
food. 

We  kept  our  course  on  up  the  Platte,  taking  every 
protection  against  wolves  and  Indians,  and  finally 
reached  a  point  just  below  the  junction  of  the  two 
rivers.  Here  we  decided  to  try  a  new  road.  We  would 
not  go  up  the  South  Platte  as  we  had  gone  on  our  pre- 
vious trip,  but  would  cross  the  river  and  follow  up  the 
North  Platte.  We  spent  half  a  day  sounding  the 
bottom  of  the  river  and  found  we  could  cross  by  rais- 
ing our  wagon  beds  about  ten  inches.  The  banks  of 
the  stream  were  low,  but  the  water  was  running  nearly 
bank  full.  By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  had  the 
wagon  beds  all  raised  and  the  banks  spaded  down  and 
ready  for  the  start.  We  hitched  ten  yoke  of  cattle  to 
one  wagon  and  drove  in  with  five  men  on  horseback 
on  each  side  of  the  cattle  to  keep  them  straight.  This 
wagon  crossed  over  in  good  shape  and  the  oxen  were 
driven  back  and  a  second  wagon  taken  across  the  same 
way.  As  the  last  wagon  crossed,  we  pushed  the  whole 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  WITH  CATTLE  71 

drove  of  cattle,  a  thousand  in  all,  after  the  wagon.  The 
loose  cattle  traveled  faster  than  the  work  cattle  and 
began  to  bunch  behind  the  wagon  and  around  the  oxen 
until  we  could  not  tell  the  work  cattle  from  the  loose 
ones,  except  by  the  yoke.  The  loose  cattle  crowded 
on,  more  and  more  of  them  gathering  about  the  wagon 
until  I  began  to  think  our  work  cattle  as  well  as  the 
wagon  were  in  great  danger.  We  took  quick  action  to 
relieve  the  situation.  I  ordered  fifteen  or  twenty  of  the 
boys  to  rush  right  in,  and  with  their  whips  force  the 
loose  cattle  away  from  the  oxen.  They  cut  and  slashed, 
whooped  and  yelled,  and  finally  got  in  alongside  the 
wagon  and  the  work  cattle.  They  then  forced  the  oxen 
as  fast  as  they  could  to  shore  and  drove  them  out  safe- 
ly on  the  opposite  bank.  This  left  the  loose  cattle  with- 
out any  guide  as  to  their  course  across  the  river.  The 
current  was  running  swiftly  and  the  cattle  wandered  off 
down  the  river,  sometimes  getting  beyond  their  depth 
and  finally  when  they  reached  the  bank,  it  was  in  many 
places  so  steep  they  could  not  climb  out.  It  was  a  pret- 
ty serious  situation  for  a  little  while,  but  by  and  by 
through  hard  work  and  much  racing  of  the  horses,  we 
got  them  all  out  on  the  opposite  shore  and  rounded 
them  up  about  sundown. 

Next  morning  we  started  on  our  slow  journey  up 
North  Platte  and  moved  on  day  by  day,  passed  Fort 
Laramie,  and  a  few  miles  above  it  struck  across 
the  mountains  along  the  old  trail  most  of  us  had 
twice  traveled.  Scenes  were  familiar  along  this 
route  by  this  time — Fremont's  Peak  in  the  distance 
to  the  north,  Independence  Rock  and  Devil's  Gate, 
and  farther  on  South  Pass,  which  divides  the  waters 
of  the  Atlantic  from  the  Pacific. 

Green  River  was  past  fording.    A  couple  of  men  from 
the  east  somewhere  had  constructed  their  wagon  beds 


72  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

of  sheet  iron  made  in  the  shape  of  flat  boats  and  had 
left  home  ahead  of  emigration  and  when  they  reached 
this  river,  unloaded  and  set  their  wagon  beds  on  the 
river  and  were  ready  for  business.  They  set  our  wagons 
over  at  five  dollars  per  load,  and  we  swam  our  horses 
and  cattle  after  them.  We  chose  the  old  trail  over 
which  we  had  gone  in  forty-nine,  as  better  than  the 
Hedgepeth  cut-off,  and  so  we  passed  Soda  Springs  and 
Fort  Hall,  thence  down  Snake  River  to  mouth  of  Raft 
River,  up  Raft  River  and  over  the  divide  to  the  Hum- 
boldt,  down  the  Humboldt,  over  the  desert  and  across 
the  Sierra  Nevada  Range,  and  down  on  the  other  side. 
Every  spot  seemed  as  familiar  to  me  as  my  father's 
door  yard,  but  the  most  vivid  recollections  came  when 
I  passed  the  old  pine  tree  at  Weaver  Greek  under  which 
I  lay  sick  for  ten  days  in  forty-nine. 

We  crossed  Sacramento  River  on  a  ferry  at  Sacra- 
mento City  and  went  forty  miles  southwest  into  the 
Suisun  Valley,  nearer  San  Francisco  Ray  than  our  first 
ranch.  We  stopped  a  few  days  on  Charles  Ramsey's 
ranch  until  we  could  locate  grazing  land  of  our  own. 
Ramsey  was  a  son-in-law  of  Calvin  James,  and,  as  here- 
tofore related,  had  brought  his  family  with  my  brothers 
on  their  trip  out  in  1850.  He  built  a  pre-emption  house 
in  a  black-haw  patch  where  Easton,  Missouri,  now 
stands.  After  his  arrival  in  California  in  1850,  he  took 
up  a  ranch  in  Suisun  Valley  and  passed  the  remainder 
of  his  life  there. 

After  resting  a  few  days  at  Ramsey's,  brother 
James  and  I  went  back  east  about  ten  miles  to  Barker 
Valley  and  located  a  ranch,  and  returned  for  our  cat- 
tle. Our  first  thought  was  of  the  cattle  and  after  they 
had  been  provided  for,  we  thought  of  ourselves.  We 
put  up  a  substantial  cabin  to  shelter  us  from  the  rainy 
season,  and  then  built  a  large  corral  by  cutting  posts 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  WITH  CATTLE  73 

and  setting  them  deep  in  the  ground,  and  binding  the 
tops  together  with  rawhide.  We  then  dug  a  deep  ditch 
around  it,  after  which  we  were  sure  it  would  hold  a 
grizzly  bear.  Our  ranch  proved  to  be  on  land  claimed 
by  Barker,  a  Spaniard,  who  lived  about  ten  miles  away, 
but  he  gave  us  no  trouble.  He  had  a  little  village  of 
Spaniards  around  him  and  about  fifty  Digger  Indians 
who  were  his  slaves.  They  were  quite  friendly,  and  we 
all  worked  together  looking  after  the  cattle. 

By  the  time  all  preparations  had  been  made  for 
winter,  the  season  was  pretty  well  advanced.  Through 
it  all,  we  had  not  had  time  to  lay  in  a  supply  of  venison 
for  the  winter  or  to  enjoy  a  good  hunt.  After  every- 
thing else  had  been  done  and  we  had  rested  a  few 
days,  we  rigged  up  our  pack  mules  and  started  for  the 
mountains.  I  have  already  described  the  abundance 
of  game  in  this  country,  and  on  this  hunt  we  found  no 
exception.  Deer,  antelope,  elk  and  bear  in  plenty.  We 
had  to  watch  also  for  California  lions,  wolves  and  wild- 
cats. They  were  abundant  also.  We  were  gone  on  this 
hunt  about  a  week.  Had  a  camp  in  which  we  assem- 
bled over  night  and  brought  in  the  results  of  our  day's 
work.  It  was  great  fun  to  sit  about  a  big  camp  fire  and 
re-count  the  experiences  of  the  day.  We  secured  all 
the  venison  we  could  possibly  need  for  a  long  period 
of  time,  and  with  it  set  off  to  our  cabin  to  spend  a 
winter  very  much  the  same  as  we  had  spent  a  previous 
winter  farther  up  the  valley. 

Our  only  diversion  was  with  the  gun  and  the  dogs. 
Wild  fowl  was  still  abundant,  and  we  had  the  choicest 
meats  whenever  we  wanted  them.  I  remember  dur- 
ing this  winter  that  a  large  herd  of  elk  were  driven 
out  of  the  swamp  by  the  water,  and  into  an  open  valley 
near  our  cabin.  The  dogs  sighted  them  and  made 
for  them.  They  singled  out  a  monster  buck  and 


74  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

he  took  to  the  water  to  battle  them.  The  dogs  were 
plucky  and  swam  in  after  him,  but  they  had  little 
chance,  as  the  water  was  beyond  their  depth,  while  he 
could  easily  stand  on  the  bottom.  As  the  dogs  would 
approach  him,  he  would  strike  them  with  his  front 
feet  and  plunger  them  under.  We  watched  the  pro- 
ceedings for  a  few  minutes  and  soon  saw  that  our 
dogs  would  all  be  drowned  if  we  let  the  buck  alone, 
so  one  of  our  boys  rode  in  and  shot  him  with  his  re- 
volver. We  dragged  him  out  and  dressed  him.  He 
was  a  monster,  and  must  have  weighed  as  much  as  800 
pounds.  His  antlers  were  the  largest  I  have  ever  seen. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
A  Bear  Hunt. 

By  March,  our  cattle  were  fat,  and  we  began 
marketing.  A  bunch  of  dairy  cows  shipped  across 
San  Francisco  Bay  to  San  Francisco  brought 
two  hundred  dollars  a  head.  A  month  later  we  took 
over  one  hundred  beef  cattle  and  sold  them  to  Miller 
and  Lucks  for  one  hundred  dollars  per  head,  and  at 
various  intervals  throughout  the  spring  months,  we 
culled  out  the  fattest  cattle  still  on  hand  and  took  them 
over,  receiving  for  all  of  them  prices  ranging  from  sev- 
enty-five to  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  per  head. 

Our  plan  was  to  stay  in  California  during  this  sum- 
mer, and  we  congratulated  ourselves  that  we  were  to 
escape  the  burning  plains.  We  had  very  little  to  do, 
had  plenty  of  money  and  plenty  to  eat,  and  I  believe 
every  man  in  the  camp  was  pretty  well  satisfied  with 
California. 

Late  in  the  fall,  as  was  our  custom,  we  organized 
another  hunt.  I  would  not  mention  it  but  for  an 
incident  that  occurred  out  in  the  mountains  which 
may  be  interesting.  The  party  consisted  of  my 
brothers,  William,  James  and  Zack,  Joe  and  Barsh 
Kessler,  and  myself.  We  reached  a  good  place  to  camp 
late  one  evening  and  pitched  our  tent.  Some  of  the 
boys  went  to  work  about  the  camp,  others  took  their 
guns  and  went  out  to  look  for  camp  meat  and  found 
it.  One  of  the  boys  brought  down  a  nice  deer,  and 
brought  it  in  in  time  for  supper.  Next  morning  the 
party  was  up  bright  and  early,  and  took  off  in  various 
directions  to  look  for  game.  We  had  not  been  separat- 
ed a  half  hour  until  I  heard  the  guns  popping  in  vari- 


76  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

ous  directions.  I  was  crawling  along  the  side  of  a 
gulch  making  my  way  up  the  mountain,  and  had  con- 
cluded luck  was  against  me.  Shortly  after  I  had  made 
this  reflection,  I  heard  the  sound  of  brother  William's 
gun,  which  I  knew  very  well,  off  to  my  right  and 
across  the  canon.  Then  I  heard  a  dreadful  growling 
and  howling  and  knew  that  William  had  wounded  a 
bear.  In  a  moment  I  heard  a  second  shot,  but  the 
growling  continued.  I  ran  down  the  side  of  the  gulch, 
crossed  the  ravine  at  the  bottom,  and  started  up  the 
other  side  when  I  saw  farther  up  the  mountain  a 
big  grizzly  making  his  way  slowly  along  sniffing, 
growling  and  plowing  through  the  wild  oats  that  cover- 
ed the  side  of  the  mountain.  I  was  satisfied  it  was  the 
bear  that  William  had  wounded,  and  I  knew  it 
was  not  safe  for  me  to  get  very  close  to  him.  However, 
I  was  then  in  safe  quarters,  and  I  decided  to  move  on 
to  a  position  where  I  could  get  a  shot  that  would  bring 
him  down,  and,  if  I  could  not  do  this,  it  was  my  plan  to 
keep  him  in  sight  so  I  could  direct  William,  who  was  on 
horseback,  how  to  follow  him.  In  passing  through  the 
brush  and  undergrowth,  however,  I  lost  sight  of  the 
bear.  I  stopped  and  listened,  but  could  hear  nothing. 
I  was  in  fairly  open  ground  and  could  see  some  dis- 
tance away,  and  as  the  bear  was  quite  a  distance  ahead, 
I  decided  to  move  cautiously  along.  I  really 
thought  the  bear  had  gone  over  the  mountain.  I  mov- 
ed "slowly  and  as  I  approached  fairly  well  to- 
ward the  top,  I  noticed  a  thick  bunch  of  weeds  off  at 
a  distance,  but  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  the  bear 
had  stopped  there.  However,  I  continued  up  the 
mountain,  intending  to  leave  the  weeds  to  my  left. 
I  slipped  along  until  I  got  opposite  the  weeds,  and 
there  to  my  great  astonishment,  I  saw  the  bear 
not  thirty  yards  from  me.  His  eyes  were  set  upon 


A  BEAR  HUNT  77 

me  and  his  hair  all  turned  the  wrong  way.  I  then 
thought  for  the  first  time  how  indiscreet  I  had  been. 
I  had  only  one  chance,  and  I  took  that  in  a  hurry. 
I  dropped  my  gun  and  started  down  the  moun- 
tain for  a  scrubby  tree  which  stood  about  sixty 
yards  away.  When  I  started  to  run  the  bear  took  af- 
ter me.  I  ran  with  all  my  might  and  as  I  passed  under 
the  tree,  I  jumped  up  and  grabbed  the  lower  limb  and 
swung  myself  up.  The  bear  came  growling  and  plow- 
ing down  the  mountain,  and  raised  on  his  hind  feet, 
and  grabbed  my  boot  with  one  of  his  paws  just  as  he 
passed  under  me,  but  the  ground  was  so  steep  and  his 
momentum  was  so  great  that  it  forced  him  on  down 
the  side  of  the  mountain  beyond  me.  This  gave 
me  time  to  go  up  the  tree  as  high  as  I  could,  though 
it  was  so  small  that  I  could  not  feel  very  secure.  The 
bear  came  back  growling  and  snarling,  and  came  up 
to  the  tree,  stood  up  on  his  hind  feet  with  his  paws 
around  the  tree,  and  tried  to  reach  me.  I  was  not 
over  five  feet  above  him,  but  he  could  not  reach  me. 
I  pulled  off  my  hat  and  threw  it  upon  the  ground. 
He  growled  and  fell  back  after  it,  and  tore  it  all  to 
pieces.  This  seemed  to  satisfy  him  for  he  did  not  come 
back  to  the  tree  any  more,  but  stood  looking  around 
for  a  while  and  then  walked  away.  He  went  on  up  the 
side  of  the  mountain,  perhaps  a  hundred  yards,  and 
crawled  into  a  thicket  of  chapparal  brush  and  laid 
down.  I  called  William  as  loud  as  I  could  but  got  no 
answer.  I  called  again  and  again,  and  finally  he  heard 
me.  The  first  thing  he  said  was,  "Look  out,  there  is  a 
wounded  bear  up  there."  I  called  back  to  him  and 
told  him  it  was  gone,  but  he  didn't  understand  me.  He 
said,  "Get  back,  get  away  from  there,  there  is  a  wound- 
ed bear  in  the  weed  patch  right  by  you."  I  answered 


78  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

and  told  him  to  come  on  up,  and  he  did  so.  He  seem- 
ed surprised  to  see  me  in  a  tree,  but  I  soon  related  my 
experience  and  pointed  out  the  chapparal  brush  in 
which  the  bear  was  lying. 

I  had  had  a  pretty  narrow  call,  but  I  was  not 
willing  to  give  up  without  the  bear.  The  question  was 
how  could  we  get  him.  I  would  not  risk  getting  down 
and  walking  up  to  the  brush  patch.  One  experience 
of  that  kind  was  enough.  There  was  a  tree  standing 
a  few  yards  from  the  thicket,  and  after  looking  the  sit- 
uation over  a  while,  I  told  William  to  go  and  ride  be- 
tween the  tree  and  the  brush,  and  keep  a  close  look- 
out, and  I  would  get  down,  run  to  the  tree,  climb  it, 
and  go  out  on  a  limb  that  extended  toward  the  brush 
where  I  thought  perhaps  I  could  see  to  get  a  shot.  He 
said  it  was  a  little  dangerous,  but  I  told  him  I  was  will- 
ing to  give  the  old  bear  a  dare  anyway,  that  he  had 
caught  me  off  my  guard  the  first  time.  We  waited 
quite  a  long  time  and  heard  nothing  from  the  bear,  so 
William  concluded  to  try  it.  He  rode  around  up  the 
side  of  the  mountain  between  the  brush  and  the  tree, 
and  made  considerable  noise,  but  the  bear  lay  still. 
He  called  me,  and  I  climbed  down,  ran  as  hard  as  I 
could,  and  was  soon  up  the  other  tree  and  out  of 
danger.  This  was  a  large  tree  and  gave  me  plenty  of 
protection.  After  I  was  well  up  the  tree,  I  pointed  out 
where  I  had  dropped  my  gun  and  William  went  and 
got  it.  He  said  he  had  hard  work  to  find  it,  as  it  was 
almost  covered  with  wild  oats  straw  and  dust  which 
the  bear  had  dragged  over  it  in  his  chase  after  me. 
The  gun  was  father's  old  Tennessee  rifle  and  as  true 
a  weapon  as  I  ever  used. 

William  handed  the  gun  up  to  me  and  I  examined 
it  to  see  if  it  was  all  right.  I  then  climbed  high  up  in 
the  tree  and  went  out  on  the  limb  that  extended  toward 


A  BEAR  HUNT  79 

the  brush.  From  this  point  I  had  a  good  view  down 
into  the  thicket  and  I  soon  located  the  bear.  I  laid  my 
gun  across  a  limb  and  drew  a  bead  on  his  head.  At 
the  crack  of  the  gun  he  straightened  out  and  began  to 
tremble  and  kick,  and  I  knew  the  fight  was  over.  His 
struggles  dislodged  him  from  his  position  on  the  steep 
mountain  side  and  he  tumbled  over  and  over  down 
the  slant  to  the  bottom  of  the  gulch.  He  looked  as 
big  as  an  ox,  but  not  half  so  dreadful  to  me  as  when  I 
was  scampering  away  from  him  an  hour  before. 

We  dressed  him  and  went  to  camp.  The  other 
boys  were  there  and  each  had  a  story  to  tell.  Ours 
was  of  big  game  and  easily  carried  away  the  honors. 

We  put  in  a  week  or  more  at  this  camp  and  had 
a  good  time  and  got  any  quantity  of  venison.  Every- 
thing was  so  free,  the  air  and  water  were  so  pure,  and 
the  wild  tent  life  so  fascinating  that  I  often  think  of 
those  days  with  delight. 

Shortly  after  our  return  from  this  hunt,  Joe  Kessler 
and  I  loaded  our  pack  mules  and  started  back  across 
the  Sierra  Nevada  Mountains  to  meet  brother  Isaac, who 
was  about  due  with  his  drove  of  cattle  from  across  the 
plains.  We  had  heard  nothing  from  him  since  he  left 
us  the  summer  before,  but  he  had  told  us  he  expected 
to  get  a  herd  of  cattle  and  come.  We  met  him  on 
Carson  River,  and  as  I  recall  now,  there  were  a  number 
of  Buchanan  County  boys  with  him — William  James, 
John  Sweeney  and  John  Bridgeman  were  three  that  I 
recall.  They  had  some  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand 
cattle,  and  had  crossed  the  plains  without  any  very 
great  difficulty,  except  the  suffering  and  hardship  from 
the  drouth  and  alkali  which  could  always  be  expected. 
We  got  the  cattle  across  the  mountains  and  on  the 
ranch  without  difficulty  and  turned  the  poor  things 
out  to  rest  and  get  fat. 


80  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

We  remained  on  the  ranch  and  in  the  cabin  until 
everybody  was  well  rested  and  then  Bridgeman  and 
the  other  boys  who  had  come  out  with  Isaac,  began  to 
talk  about  a  hunt.  They  had  heard  our  bear  and  deer 
stories  and  wanted  some  experience  of  their  own. 

I  .must  tell  one  thing  that  occurred  on  a  hunt  that 
was  planned  for  these  boys  especially,  although  I  have 
previously  related  at  considerable  length  my  hunting 
experiences.  We  had  been  out  in  the  camp  a  day  or 
two  and  had  not  had  much  luck,  especially  with  bear; 
but  one  afternoon  while  we  were  all  moving  along 
pretty  close  together  and  somewhat  contrary  to  our 
ordinary  methods  of  hunting,  we  ran  on  to  two  brown 
bears  just  as  they  were  going  into  a  dense  thicket 
covering  about  twenty  acres  of  ground.  We  had  no 
chance  to  get  a  shot  before  they  went  in.  We  immedi- 
ately surrounded  the  thicket  and  posted  men  at  con- 
venient distances  apart,  and  began  an  effort  to  dislodge 
them.  In  spite  of  the  danger  of  doing  so,  some  of  the 
boys  went  into  the  thicket  and  made  a  great  noise 
which  drove  the  bears  to  the  farther  side  and 
gave  the  boys  on  that  side  a  fair  chance  for  a 
shot,  but  they  did  not  get  them  and  the  bears  ran  back 
into  the  thicket.  The  same  tactics  drove  them  from 
one  side  of  the  thicket  to  the  other  for  an  hour  or 
more,  and  nobody  was  able  to  make  a  telling  shot.  By 
and  by  both  got  away,  and  everybody  was  deeply 
chagrined — especially  the  boys  who  were  out  for  the 
first  time. 

We  moved  away  from  the  thicket  and  down 
the  mountain  side,  all  still  much  excited,  and 
stopped  to  rest  in  a  little  glade  that  was  almost  com- 
pletely surrounded  by  thick  brush.  There  was  not  a 
loaded  gun  in  the  crowd.  As  we  sat  there  talking,  a 
grizzly  bear  that  looked  as  big  as  an  old  gray  mule, 


A  BEAR  HUNT  81 

walked  out  of  the  brush  not  twenty  steps  away.  He 
raised  up  on  his  hind  feet  with  his  paws  hanging  down 
to  his  sides,  dropped  his  lip  and  showed  his  teeth.  I 
don't  think  I  ever  saw  a  crowd  of  men  so  badly  scared. 
They  jumped  and  ran  in  every  direction.  The  closest 
tree  stood  between  where  we  were  sitting  and  the  bear. 
Sweeney  made  for  it. 

He  was  beside  himself.  He  tried  to  climb  the  tree 
but  lost  his  hold  and  fell  back.  He  tried  again,  but  the 
tree  had  a  smooth  trunk  and  he  slipped  again.  He 
slid  down  until  he  sat  flat  upon  the  ground  with  his 
arms  and  legs  locked  around  the  tree.  Here  he  lost 
his  head  completely.  His  desire  to  get  up  the  tree  had 
evidently  placed  him  there  in  his  own  imagination,  for 
he  called  out:  "Hand  me  my  gun  up  here!  Hand  me 
my  gun  up  here!"  He  then  said,  "Why  in  the  hell 
don't  you  boys  climb  a  tree?" 

I  stood  perfectly  still  and  kept  my  eye  on  the  bear. 
I  soon  saw  there  was  no  danger  in  him;  that  he  was  as 
badly  scared  as  we  were.  He  stood  a  moment,  dropped 
on  his  four  paws  to  the  ground,  wheeled  and  went 
tearing  back  through  the  brush.  I  told  the  boys  he 
couldn't  understand  what  they  were  doing  and  took 
their  conduct  to  be  preparation  for  a  great  fight,  and 
that  I  didn't  blame  him  for  getting  scared.  If  the 
devil  himself  had  seen  them  and  hadn't  understood  that 
they  were  scared,  it  would  have  frightened  him. 

When  we  got  over  our  scare,  we  loaded  our  guns 
carefully  and  started  for  camp.  The  boys  were  still 
excited  and  as  we  passed  over  the  stream  which  flowed 
at  the  bottom  of  the  canon,  we  saw  where  a  bear  had 
apparently,  but  a  few  minutes  before  been  wallowing 
in  the  mud  and  water.  The  mountain  sides  were  steep 
and  rough  and  covered  with  brush,  and  our  boys  after 
their  recent  fright,  were  in  almost  as  much  terror  at 


82  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

this  evidence  of  nearness  to  a  bear  as  they  were  when 
they  could  actually  see  him.  The  experienced  mem- 
bers of  the  party  looked  into  the  situation  for  a  mo- 
ment and  decided  that  we  would  probably  get  this 
gentleman.  We  climbed  back  up  the  canon,  every  now 
and  then  loosening  a  big  rock  and  rolling  it  down 
through  the  brush.  By  and  by  we  routed  out  a  brown 
bear.  He  started  up  the  mountain  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  gulch  and  in  plain  view.  I  gave  him  a 
sample  of  what  my  Tennessee  rifle  could  do  and  sent 
him  rolling  back  to  the  bottom  of  the  gulch  ready  to 
be  dressed. 

We  remained  in  camp  a  week  or  two  on  this  hunt 
and  everybody,  as  usual,  enjoyed  it.  We  went  back  to 
the  cabin  where  six  Gibson,  brothers  lived  together. 
The  cattle  were  little  trouble,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  do  most  of  the  time  but  loaf,  and  this  didn't 
suit  us  after  so  much  activity.  We  soon  began  to 
plan  for  the  succeeding  year.  The  cattle  were  not 
much  trouble  and  two  men  could  easily  take  care  of 
them.  James,  Zack,  Robert  and  myself  volunteered  to 
return  to  Missouri  and  bring  another  herd  out  next 
year,  leaving  William  and  Isaac  in  charge  while  we 
were  gone. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
Home  by  way  of  Panama  and  New  York. 

About  the  first  of  November,  the  four  of  us  left 
the  ranch  for  San  Francisco.  There  we  bought  four 
tickets  for  New  York  for  eight  hundred  dollars,  and 
each  man  belted  a  thousand  dollars  in  twenty-dollar 
gold  pieces  around  him.  Our  ship  was  the  John  L. 
Stephens,  and  carried  about  a  thousand  passengers, 
besides  a  large  quantity  of  freight.  It  was  my  first  ex- 
perience on  the  water,  and  as  we  sailed  out  through 
the  golden  gate  and  into  the  open  sea,  I  had  many  mis- 
givings and  wished  myself  back  upon  the  plains  among 
the  Indians.  But  in  a  little  while  I  grew  accustomed 
to  life  on  the  ship  and  really  enjoyed  the  whole  trip. 
At  some  point  on  the  coast  of  Old  Mexico  the  ship  an- 
chored and  took  on  board  a  drove  of  beef  cattle,  and 
that  was  the  only  stop  between  San  Francisco  and  Pan- 
ama. 

When  we  reached  Panama  the  ship  anchored 
about  a  mile  from  shore  and  little  black  natives  row- 
ed out  in  small  boats  to  carry  the  passengers  in. 
When  the  boats  reached  the  side  of  the  ship,  they  were 
hoisted  by  ropes  to  a  level  with  the  deck,  loaded  with 
passengers  and  lowered  again  to  the  water.  The  na- 
tives grabbed  the  oars  and  away  we  went.  All  pas- 
sengers remained  in  Panama  over  night,  and  next 
morning  a  train  of  pack  mules  was  lined  up  for  the 
overland  trip.  We  rode  twenty  miles  on  mules  to  the 
Charges  River,  then  down  the  river  in  boats  twelve 
miles  and  then  eight  miles  by  railway  to  Aspinwall. 
The  ship,  George  Law,  was  waiting  for  us,  but  it  re- 
quired two  days  to  get  all  the  passengers  and  baggage 


84  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

across  the  isthmus  and  loaded.  During  that  time  we 
remained  in  Aspinwall.  It  was  a  wonder  to  me  that 
the  task  could  be  finished  so  quickly.  There  were  a 
thousand  passengers — many  women  and  children — and 
the  sick  who  had  to  be  carried  on  stretchers  by  the  na- 
tives twenty  miles  over  the  mountain  to  Charges  River. 
Besides,  the  road  was  a  mere  pack  trail  through  rocks 
and  cliffs,  often  very  steep  and  very  rough.  To  make 
the  task  more  difficult,  the  passengers  of  the  George 
Law — about  as  many  as  were  on  the  John  L.  Stephens — 
were  making  the  trip  in  the  opposite  direction  to  take 
our  ship  back  to  California.  Those  were  busy  days  for 
the  natives. 

The  George  Law  steamed  right  up  to  shore  against 
a  rock  bluff  and  the  passengers  walked  directly  over 
the  gang  plank  on  to  the  ship.  When  all  was  ready 
the  seamen  hauled  in  the  cables  and  we  sailed  for  New 
York.  The  sea  was  very  rough  all  the  way — that  is,  it 
seemed  so  to  us.  We  landed  at  Key  West,  but  re- 
mained there  only  a  few  hours  and  stopped  next  time 
at  New  York  City.  As  the  passengers  started  for  shore 
the  captain  told  them  to  look  out  for  their  pocket  books. 
We  had  done  that  back  in  San  Francisco  when  we  put 
on  our  belts. 

Our  first  thought  on  landing  was  clothing.  We 
were  dressed  for  summer  time,  as  the  climate  we  had 
been  in  required,  but  it  was  winter  in  New  York,  with 
deep  snow  on  the  ground.  The  afternoon  after  land- 
ing saw  us  duly  provided  with  plenty  of  warm  cloth- 
ing and  tickets  by  railroad  and  boat  to  St.  Louis — rail- 
road by  way  of  Buffalo,  Toledo  and  Chicago  to  Quincy, 
and  from  Quincy  to  St.  Louis  by  boat.  At  St.  Louis 
brother  Robert  was  taken  sick  and  we  all  remained 
there  a  week.  The  usual  course  from  St.  Louis  home 
was  by  stage,  but  we  met  a  man  named  Andrew  Jack- 


HOME  VIA  PANAMA  AND  NEW  YORK  85 

son  from  Holt  County,  who  told  us  if  we  would  pay 
him  stage  fare — twenty-five  dollars  each — he  would 
buy  a  span  of  mules  and  a  carriage  and  drive  us  through 
— as  he  needed  both  the  mules  and  the  carriage  at 
home.  This  arrangement  was  made  and  we  left  St. 
Louis  about  the  middle  of  December.  The  weather 
was  very  cold,  snow  a  foot  deep  or  more,  and  the  roads 
very  rough  in  many  places.  One  pleasant  thing  about 
the  trip  was  that  we  always  had  good,  warm  lodging 
places  for  the  night  along  the  road.  Towns  were  close 
enough  together  to  enable  us  usually  to  reach  one  of 
them  and  put  up  at  the  tavern,  but  if  we  failed  in  this, 
we  always  found  good  treatment  at  the  farm  houses 
by  the  way. 

A  few  miles  west  of  Keytesville,  Chariton  County, 
we  put  up  one  night  with  a  man  named  Tom  Allen, 
who  had  a  hundred  head  of  steers  ranging  from  two 
to  four  years  old.  They  were  exactly  what  we  wanted, 
but  were  so  far  from  our  starting  point  that  we  were 
uncertain  whether  we  could  take  them.  He  asked 
three  thousand  dollars  for  the  herd.  Next  morning 
we  looked  them  over  carefully,  and  told  him  if  he 
would  keep  them  until  the  first  of  April  we  would 
take  them.  He  agreed  to  this  and  we  paid  him  a  thous- 
and dollars  down  and  continued  our  journey.  He  was 
a  complete  stranger  to  us  and  we  to  him,  but  in  those 
days  men  seemed  to  have  more  confidence  in  one  an- 
other. No  writing  of  any  kind  was  entered  into  and 
we  felt  not  the  slightest  uneasiness  about  getting  the 
cattle. 

We  reached  home  Christmas  day,  1853,  having 
made  the  trip  in  less  than  two  months. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 
Another  trip  across  the  plains  with  cattle. 

From  Christmas  until  the  middle  of  March,  1854, 
the  time  passed  rapidly,  with  mother  and  father  and 
with  visits  to  old  friends  and  acquaintances.  On  April 
first,  according  to  contract,  we  arrived  at  Tom  Allen's 
in  Chariton  County,  and  paid  him  the  balance  of  two 
thousand  dollars — in  gold — and  got  our  hundred  head 
of  cattle,  all  in  good  condition.  As  we  passed  Bruns- 
wick, we  bought  one  hundred  more  and  attempted  to 
ferry  the  whole  herd  across  Grand  River  in  a  flat-boat. 
We  cut  off  a  bunch  and  drove  them  down  the  bank 
on  to  the  boat.  They  all  ran  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
boat  and  sunk  it,  and  the  cattle  went  head  foremost 
into  the  water.  All  swam  back  to  the  same  shore, 
but  one  steer.  He  swam  to  the  other  side  and  ran 
out  into  the  brush.  We  could  do  nothing  but  watch 
him  go  and  gave  him  up  for  lost.  A  strange  thing  hap- 
pened in  regard  to  that  steer.  Just  a  year  later,  I 
found  him  on  our  ranch  in  California — the  same 
marks  and  the  same  brand,  besides  my  recollection 
of  him.  There  could  be  no  mistake  about  it.  I  can 
account  for  his  presence  there  easily,  for  at  that  time 
many  men  were  driving  cattle  across  the  plains.  Some 
one  found  him  and  drove  him  along  and,  .after  arriv- 
ing, as  ranches  were  large  and  unfenced,  he  wander- 
ed with  other  cattle  up  into  our  ranch. 

After  the  unsuccessful  attempt  to  ferry  the  cattle 
over  the  river  we  changed  our  plan  and  drove  them 
twenty  miles  up  the  river  to  a  point  where  it  could 
be  forded.  Passed  Carrollton  where  we  picked  up  a 
few  more  cattle,  and  came  on  up  to  John  Wilson's  in 


ANOTHER  TRIP  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  WITH  CATTLE    87 

Clay  County,  gathering  a  few  here  and  there  until  we 
had  three  hundred  head.  Wilson  had  a  herd  of  one 
hundred  which  we  bought.  These  four  hundred  with 
two  hundred  purchased  around  home  completed  the 
herd.  By  the  last  day  of  April  we  had  six  hundred 
head  in  father's  pasture  at  home,  thirty  head  of  horses 
and  mules,  two  wagons  loaded  with  provisions — four 
yoke  of  cattle  to  each  wagon — and  twenty  men  employ- 
ed to  go  with  us.  As  we  laid  the  pasture  fence  down 
to  let  that  drove  of  cattle  out  into  the  wide  world, 
every  man  had  to  be  on  his  guard.  It  was  a  timbered, 
brushy  country  and  very  hard  to  drive  the  cattle  with- 
out losing  them.  There  were  probably  fifty  of  our 
neighbors  on  hand  to  see  us  start — many  of  them  on 
horse-back — and  they  gave  us  much  assistance.  By  two 
o'clock  next  day  we  had  everything  across  the  river  at 
St.  Joe  and  the  cattle  herded  on  a  sandbar  above 
where  Elwood  now  stands.  After  starting  off  the  sand- 
bar we  had  the  same  trouble  in  the  heavy  timber  and 
with  the  Indians  that  we  experienced  on  the  first  trip, 
but  finally  got  out  on  the  high  plains  with  horses,  cat- 
tle and  men  fairly  well  trained,  and  then  considered 
our  hard  work  finished,  although  two  thousand 
miles  of  plains  and  mountains  were  ahead. 

Brothers  James,  Zack  and  Robert  all  started  to  ac- 
company me  on  this  trip,  but,  as  it  was  unnecessary  to 
have  so  many  along,  James  and  Robert  returned  after 
we  had  reached  Big  Blue,  to  gather  up  a  herd  for  the 
following  summer,  and  Zack  and  I  continued  the  jour- 
ney. I  was  considerably  older  than  Zack,  and  the 
principal  responsibility  fell  to  me.  The  cattle  were 
very  valuable,  but,  in  addition  to  that,  I  felt  in  a  meas- 
ure responsible  for  the  lives  of  the  thirty  persons  who 


88  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

accompanied  the  train — at  least,  in  any  conflict  with 
Indians,  I  would  be  depended  upon  for  counsel  and 
guidance. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  give  the  details  of  this  trip. 
The  road  is  now  familiar  to  the  reader,  and  I  hope  also 
that,  by  this  time,  he  can  appreciate  the  tediousness  of 
such  a  journey.  He  may  be  aided  in  this  if  I  say  here 
that  we  hadn't  a  pound  of  grain  or  hay  with  us,  either 
for  the  horses  and  work  cattle  or  for  the  herd,  but  all 
of  them  had  to  subsist  by  grazing.  It  was  impossible, 
therefore,  to  make  more  than  a  few  miles  a  day  and 
it  was  only  by  determined  persistence  and  a  display 
of  patience  that  I  cannot  describe,  that  we  ever  ac- 
complished the  journey.  There  are  a  few  incidents, 
which,  in  addition  to  the  ordinary  hardships,  served  to 
make  the  trip  still  more  tedious  and  trying,  and  these 
I  will  mention. 

One  night  we  camped  on  a  high,  rolling  prairie 
out  beyond  Little  Blue.  The  cattle  were  grazing  peace- 
fully and  the  horses  and  mules — except  those  used  by 
brother  Zack  and  myself  and  by  the  guards — had  been 
picketed  out,  and  everybody  in  camp  was  asleep.  One 
of  the  mules  pulled  up  his  picket  stake  and  dragged  it 
at  the  end  of  a  long  rope  through  the  camp  and  caught 
the  picket  stake  in  the  bow  of  an  ox-yoke.  This  fright- 
ened the  mule  and  he  ran  into  the  herd  of  cattle  still 
dragging  the  yoke.  A  stampede  followed.  Work  cat- 
tle, horses  and  mules — everything — and  the  noise  sound- 
ed like  an  earthquake.  The  guards  could  not  hold 
the  cattle  at  all.  Zack  and  I,  who  kept  our  horses  sad- 
dled and  bridled  and  tied  to  a  wagon,  were  out  in  a 
moment,  but  we  could  give  little  assistance  to  the  two 
guards  in  managing  the  crazy  cattle,  and  the  other  men 
could  not  come  to  us  for  their  horses  had  gone  with 
the  cyclone.  It  was  very  dark  and  our  only  guide  to 


ANOTHER  TRIP  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  WITH  CATTLE    89 

the  location  of  the  cattle  was  the  roar  of  the  ground. 
After  a  race  of  a  few  miles  the  roar  ceased  and  we 
knew  the  cattle  had  checked.  We  rode  in  front  of 
them  and  held  them  until  daylight.  They  were  badly 
scattered  and  exposed  to  wolves  and  Indians.  It  was 
twelve  o'clock  next  day  before  we  got  them  rounded  up 
and  ready  to  start  forward.  All  the  cattle  and  horses 
were  found,  but  one  of  our  mules  was  missing.  No  trace 
of  him  could  be  found  anywhere,  so  we  left  him  alone 
somewhere  on  those  plains  for  the  Indians  or  the 
wolves,  or  possibly,  for  a  succeeding  emigrant  train. 

Day  by  day  and  week  by  week  the  journey  con- 
tinued without  incident,  until  we  reached  a  point  high 
up  on  the  North  Platte.  We  camped  one  night  upon  the 
banks  of  a  small  stream  that  emptied  into  the  Platte, 
and  during  the  night  a  terrific  hail  storm  came  up. 
Shortly  after  it  broke  upon  us,  one  of  the  guards  came 
and  said  the  cattle  had  gone  with  the  hail  storm,  and 
the  guards  could  do  nothing  with  them.  Several  of  us 
were  on  our  horses  and  after  them  at  once.  A  flash  of 
lightning  now  and  then  helped  us  to  find  the  main 
bunch,  which  we  rounded  up  on  a  sand-bar  in  Platte 
River.  No  more  sleep  that  night.  When  daylight  came 
the  hail  lay  two  inches  deep  on  the  ground.  I  never 
experienced  such  a  hail  storm  in  my  life,  and  it  is  my 
opinion  that  but  few  like  it  have  ever  visited  this  coun- 
try. 

The  count  that  morning  showed  thirteen  cattle 
missing.  For  fear  of  a  mistake  we  went  forward  and 
strung  them  out  between  us  and  counted  again.  Still 
thirteen  short.  To  leave  them  without  further  effort  was 
out  of  the  question,  so  I  picked  five  men — James  and 
Russell  Deakins,  Joshua  Gidlett,  Buchanan  County 
boys,  and  Tom  Sherman  and  Henry  Marks,  two  boys 
from  Boston  who  joined  our  train  at  St.  Joseph,  and, 


90  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

with  our  guns  and  blankets  and  a  small  amount  of  pro- 
visions, started  back  to  circle  the  camp  and  look  for 
tracks  leading  away.  I  thought  the  Indians  had  them 
and  told  the  boys  we  would  likely  have  to  fight,  but  all 
were  willing  to  go.  Zack  was  to  move  the  train  slow- 
ly forward  until  he  heard  from  us. 

We  did  not  search  long  after  reaching  the  place 
where  the  cattle  had  been  grazing  when  the  storm 
came  up,  until  we  found  tracks  leading  to  the  north, 
and  by  appearances  we  were  able  to  conclude  that 
there  were  just  about  the  number  we  had  lost  in  the 
bunch  that  had  been  driven  away.  We  followed  the 
tracks  a  few  miles,  looking  all  the  time  for  Indian 
tracks  and  pony  tracks,  and  could  see  neither,  but 
there  were  numbers  of  what  appeared  to  be  dog  tracks. 
This  suggested  wolves,  and  I  began  to  look  closely  at 
the  tracks  made  by  the  cattle.  Going  up  the  sides  of 
the  sand  hills  the  cattle  seemed  to  remain  together, 
but  going  down  they  would  separate  and  run,  and  on 
level  ground  would  get  together  again  and  all  circle 
around  and  wander  back  and  forth.  At  such  times 
we  had  great  difficulty  in  tracing  them.  The  move- 
ments of  the  cattle  convinced  me  that  wolves  were  af- 
ter them. 

The  tracks  led  us  to  the  north  about  ten  miles 
and  then  turned  westwardly.  We  had  followed  in  that 
direction  about  five  miles  when  night  came.  As  soon 
as  it  grew  so  dark  we  could  not  see  the  tracks,  we 
staked  out  our  horses,  ate  a  lunch  and  spread  our 
blankets  down  on  the  ground.  We  rested,  but  slept 
little.  We  had  seen  no  Indians,  but  did  not  know  how 
many  had  seen  us,  and  might  be  following  us.  Two 
stood  guard  at  a  time  while  the  other  three  lay  on  the 
ground  in  the  darkness  with  their  eyes  wide  open.  At 
daybreak  we  were  up,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  light  were 


ANOTHER  TRIP  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  WITH  CATTLE    91 

on  the  trail  again.  Some  miles  on  the  tracks  turned 
south,  and  this  gave  us  courage,  as  Platte  River  and  the 
emigrant  road  lay  that  way,  but  the  wolves  still  had 
our  cattle.  The  tracks  led  us  on  and  on  and  finally 
up  the  side  of  a  high  range  of  sand  hills,  from  the  top 
of  which  we  could  see  the  valley  of  North  Platte  and 
the  river  far  in  the  distance.  We  followed  down  the 
opposite  side  into  the  valley,  and  when  within  about 
two  miles  of  the  river  I  saw  a  bunch  of  cattle  lying 
down  near  the  bank.  I  was  confident  they  were  our 
cattle,  unless  other  emigrants  had  lost  a  bunch  in  the 
storm,  which  was  not  probable.  We  hurried  on  and 
when  within  half  a  mile  of  the  cattle  found  a  carcass 
lying  in  the  high  grass  and  twelve  or  fifteen  savage 
old  wolves  lying  near  by  asleep.  We  pulled  our  navies 
and  waked  them  up  with  bullets — killed  three  and 
wounded  several  others.  We  then  rode  on  and  found 
that  the  cattle  were  ours — twelve  of  them.  A  three 
year  old  heifer  missing — the  carcass  we  had  found. 
The  cattle  were  sore  and  gaunt,  but  otherwise  unhurt. 
We  pulled  the  saddles  off  our  horses  and  staked  them 
out  to  graze  and  lay  down  for  a  little  rest.  We  had 
been  gone  from  camp  twenty-four  hours,  had  had  but 
two  scanty  meals  and  were .  probably  twenty-five  or 
thirty  miles  farther  up  the  trail  than  the  camp  we  left. 
Our  train  had  not  passed,  as  there  were  no  fresh  tracks 
on  the  trail,  and  we  decided  to  endure  our  hunger  and 
rest  awhile  before  starting  to  meet  it.  In  about  an 
hour,  however,  I  looked  down  the  valley  and  saw  the 
train  moving  slowly  along.  It  reached  us  just  about 
noon  and  all  were  greatly  rejoiced.  The  noon  meal 
was  prepared  and  I  think  my  tin  cup  of  coffee  was 
the  best  I  ever  drank. 


92  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

The  train  moved  on  without  incident  until  we 
reached  a  point  on  North  Platte  some  seventy-five 
miles  above  Fort  Laramie,  where  a  spur  of  the  moun- 
tain, or  rather  a  very  high  bluff,  prevented  us  from 
following  the  river,  as  had  been  our  purpose  on  this 
trip,  and  forced  us  across  ten  miles  or  more  of  rocky, 
mountainous  country.  When  I  entered  my  train  upon 
that  part  of  the  journey  I  calculated  there  would  be  no 
obstruction,  as  no  emigrants  were  ahead  that  I  had 
heard  of,  and  I  knew  no  cattle  trains  were  ahead  of 
us.  I  rode  in  front  always  and  the  lead  cattle  follow- 
ed close  to  my  horse's  heels.  Always  the  same  cat- 
tle, three  or  four  in  every  herd,  insisted  on  being  in 
front,  and  if  left  in  the  rear  as  the  train  started  out  in 
the  morning,  they  would  crowd  through  the  herd  and  be 
in  front  within  an  hour;  then  came  the  whole  drove 
and  then  the  wagons,  followed  by  the  loose  horses  and 
mules.  Strung  out  in  this  fashion  we  started  across  this 
portion  of  the  road,  which  in  many  places  permitted 
only  one  wagon  and  team  and  not  more  than  four  cattle 
side  by  side.  I  led  the  long,  winding  string  to  the  top  of  a 
mountain,  and  from  that  point  I  could  see  a  line  of 
dark  objects  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long  approaching  us. 
I  looked  closely  and  determined  it  was  Indians,  and 
passed  word  to  that  effect  back  along  the  line.  The 
men  rushed  to  the  wagons  and  got  their  guns,  and  by 
the  time  they  had  returned  to  their  places  I  had  made 
out  that  the  Indians  were  moving  and  that  we  need  not 
fear  attack,  as  Indians  never  fight  when  the  squaws 
and  pappooses  are  along,  but  I  was  surprised  at  the  lit- 
tle comfort  I  received  out  of  that  assurance.  The  puzzle 
to  me  was  how  to  meet  and  pass  them  without  stam- 
peding the  cattle.  Cattle  do  not  like  Indians.  They  do 
not  like  their  looks  and  they  do  not  like  their  smell, 
and  it  is  hard  work  to  get  them  to  pass  a  band  of  In- 


ANOTHER  TRIP  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  WITH  CATTLE    93 

dians  on  the  broad  prairie  where  they  have  plenty  of 
room  to  shy.  To  pass  on  this  narrow  road  was  out  of 
the  question.  I  stopped  to  think  and  to  look.  Some 
distance  ahead,  but  closer  to  us  than  the  Indians,  I  saw 
what  appeared  to  be  a  cove  or  basin,  almost  complete- 
ly surrounded  by  high  bluffs  and  opening  upon  the 
road.  I  rode  hurriedly  forward,  beckoning  the  men 
at  the  same  time  to  push  the  cattle  after  me.  When 
I  reached  the  mouth  of  the  basin  I  stopped  and 
turned  the  cattle  into  it.  Little  more  than  half  the 
herd  had  gone  in  when  the  Indians  came  up.  The 
cattle  began  to  hoist  their  heads  and  shy,  but  the 
Indians  did  not  stop.  I  rode  back  a  few  paces  and 
met  them,  bowed  and  said  "how-do"  as  friendly 
as  I  knew  how,  and  made  signs  that  I  wanted 
them  to  stop.  They  seemed  not  to  understand  until 
I  pointed  to  the  cattle,  still  hoisting  heads  and  tails, 
and  when  crowded  forward,  jumping  to  the  side  and 
running  into  the  basin.  When  they  saw  this  the  whole 
train  stopped.  Our  cattle  and  wagons  and  loose  horses 
all  came  up  and  turned  in — the  men  standing  along  the 
roadside  to  see  the  Indians  pass  in  their  turn.  When 
everything  was  safely  lodged  in  the  receptacle,  which 
it  seemed  to  me  Providence  had  designed  for  just  such 
an  emergency,  I  turned,  took  off  my  hat  and  bowed 
long  and  low  and  rode  aside.  The  Indians  bowed  in 
return  and  passed  on.  We  stood  by  the  roadside  and 
saw  the  whole  caravan  pass.  There  were  probably  five 
or  six  hundred  of  them — a  tribe  of  the  Crows.  The 
long  tent  poles  were  tied  one  on  each  side  of  a  pony, 
the  ends  dragging  on  the  ground  behind  with  a  plat- 
form or  base  joining  them,  on  which  the  tents  and 
skins  and  such  rude  camp  equipment  as  they  had  were 
piled.  The  shorter  tent  poles  were  tied  one  on  each 
side  of  a  dog,  with  baskets  resting  on  the  rear  ends  in 


94  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

which  the  pappooses  were  hauled  or  dragged  along. 
Everything  turned  loose — not  a  halter  or  strap  on  dog 
or  pony — all  herded  or  driven  like  cattle.  They  were 
nearly  an  hour  in  passing  us,  and  the  men  who  were 
on  the  plains  for  the  first  time  thought  it  an  amusing 
experience.  It  required  but  a  short  time,  after  the 
movers  had  passed,  to  get  our  cattle  out  and  start  them 
on  the  road  again,  and,  by  night,  we  had  passed  over 
the  mountains  and  were  back  on  the  river.  A  double 
guard  kept  watch  that  night,  as  we  feared  a  band  of  the 
bucks  that  had  passed  us  might  come  back  and  try 
to  get  some  of  our  cattle,  but  the  moon  shone  very 
bright,  and  as  our  whole  force  had  stood  by  the  road- 
side with  guns  across  their  saddles,  they  probably 
thought  such  an  attempt  would  be  useless. 

Our  train  moved  on  slowly,  passed  Independence 
Rock  and  over  the  continental  divide  and  down  into 
Green  River  Valley.  When  we  reached  Green  River  we 
rounded  the  cattle  upon  a  sandbar  and  forced  them 
all  into  the  water  at  once.  They  got  to  milling  around 
and  round  and  going  down  the  swift  current,  until  we 
thought  they  would  make  the  rest  of  the  journey  by 
water,  but  they  soon  found  the  water  too  cold  for  their 
enjoyment  and  headed  for  the  farther  shore.  All  got 
out  but  one. 

We  took  Hedgepeth's  cut-off  and  reached  the  head 
waters  of  Humboldt  without  difficulty,  thence  down  this 
river  mile  after  mile,  through  sage  brush  and 
grease  wood  and  alkali  shoe  mouth  deep.  As  the  cattle 
passed,  a  dense,  black  cloud  rose  above  them,  almost 
stifling  men,  horses  and  cattle.  At  night  the  men  were 
black  as  negroes  and  complained  of  sore  throat  and 
sore  lungs,  but  there  was  no  escape.  Big  Meadows,  as 
I  have  heretofore  described  it,  afforded  a  delightful 
resting  place  just  between  the  dense  alkali  and  the 


ANOTHER  TRIP  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  WITH  CATTLE    95 

sixty-mile  desert.  But  for  this  oasis,  I  may  call  it, 
where  rest  and  food  and  water  could  be  had,  it  is 
doubtful  if  herds  could  have  been  taken  across  the 
plains.  Certainly  a  different  trail  would  have  been 
required. 

With  all  our  precautions  the  trip  across  the  sixty- 
mile  desert  was  a  very  hard  one.  The  weather  was  hot. 
Not  a  drop  of  water  nor  a  blade  of  grass  for  thirty 
hours.  When  the  cattle  caught  sight  of  Carson  River  late 
one  afternoon  they  went  wild.  No  power  could  hold 
them.  They  ran  headlong  into  the  river  and  next  morn- 
ing five  were  dead.  After  the  long  march  across  the  sand 
and  alkali,  the  trip  up  Carson  River  and  over  the  Sierre 
Nevada  mountains  was  an  easy  one,  and  we  made  it 
without  difficulty.  Going  down  the  opposite  side  we 
had  to  pass  through  great  forests  of  pine  timber,  and 
the  cattle,  after  being  so  long  upon  the  treeless  plains, 
seemed  not  to  understand  this  and  gave  a  great  deal  of 
trouble.  One  night  we  camped  near  Leake  Springs 
in  a  heavy  body  of  pine,  quieted  the  cattle  and  had 
them  all  lying  down,  as  we  thought,  for  the  night. 
Something  frightened  them,  and  away  they  started, 
right  across  our  camp  and  back  toward  the  top  of  the 
mountain.  At  the  first  sound  of  the  stampede  we 
jumped  to  our  feet,  whooped  and  yelled,  threw  our 
blankets  in  their  faces  and  tried  in  every  way  to  stop 
them,  but  they  paid  no  attention  and  came  crashing  on 
through  the  brush.  We  were  compelled  to  get  behind 
trees  to  protect  ourselves,  and  after  the  tornado  of  cattle 
had  passed,  gathered  our  horses  and  took  after  them. 
They  were  all  strung  out  on  the  road,  running  as  fast  as 
they  could,  and  we  had  to  pass  them  by  making  our  poor 
jaded  horses  outrun  them.  It  was  no  easy  task,  and 
the  leaders  of  the  bolt  for  home  were  some  fifteen 
miles  away  before  we  overtook  and  passed  them.  It 


96  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

was  almost  daylight  when  we  succeeded  in  doing  this, 
and  it  required  most  of  next  day  to  gather  all  of  them 
up  and  get  back  to  camp.  Not  a  man  had  a  morsel  to 
eat  until  we  returned  to  camp.  We  decided  to  keep 
moving  slowly  throughout  the  entire  succeeding  night, 
as  the  best  means  of  preventing  another  stampede  and 
in  order  to  get  out  of  the  timbered  mountains  and  into 
the  valley  where  the  cattle  were  not  so  apt  to  get  ex- 
cited. Early  next  day  we  reached  the  valley  and 
stopped.  Horses,  men  and  cattle  took  a  good  rest. 
This  stampede  jaded  both  horses  and  cattle  more  than 
crossing  the  sixty-mile  desert,  hard  as  that  was. 

After  a  day's  rest  we  pulled  on  and  passed  through 
the  mining  district  of  Weaver  Creek  and  American 
River,  and  reached  Sacramento  River  at  Sacramento 
City,  crossed  the  river  on  a  ferry  and  camped  for  the 
night  on  the  farther  bank.  No  guard  out  that  night— 
the  first  in  four  months — and  the  boys  went  up  to  see 
the  sights  of  the  town.  Human  tongue  can  hardly  tell 
the  relief  I  felt  when  I  could  lie  down  and 
sleep  without  fear  of  Indians  or  wolves  or  stampedes. 
A  better  set  of  men  than  I  had  with  me  never  crossed 
the  plains,  always  ready  for  duty  and  to  help  me  out  of 
trouble.  It  was  about  thirty  miles  out  to  our  ranch  and 
I  told  the  boys  if  they  would  go  out  with  me  I  would 
board  them  as  long  as  they  wanted  to  stay.  About  half 
of  them  went  and  the  others  began  to  look  about  for 
themselves.  It  was  an  affectionate  farewell  that  took 
place  between  us,  and  in  all  the  years  that  have  passed 
I  have  never  seen  many  of  those  boys,  but  I  shall  never 
forget  them. 

We  reached  the  ranch  without  difficulty  and 
turned  the  cattle  loose.  The  poor  things  had  been 
traveling  so  long  and  had  become  so  accustomed  to  it 


ANOTHER  TRIP  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  WITH  CATTLE    97 

that  we  had  to  watch  them  every  day  for  nearly  a 
month.  They  seemed  to  think  they  had  to  be  moving, 
and  after  grazing  awhile  in  the  morning  would  string 
out  on  any  road  or  path  they  could  find  and  sometimes 
get  miles  away — the  old  leaders  always  in  front — be- 
fore we  would  discover  them.  After  awhile  we  got 
them  convinced  that  their  journey  had  ended  and  that 
grass  belly  deep  was  a  reality  which  they  might  actual- 
ly enjoy. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
Sojourn  in  California. 

The  fall  of  1854  and  the  winter  and  spring  of  1855 
were  not  unlike  our  previous  winters  in  California. 
There  was  but  little  to  do  except  watch  the  cattle  to  keep 
them  from  straying.  Hunting  was  about  the  only  diver- 
sion and  game  was  still  plentiful.  Grass  was  abundant 
all  through  the  winter  and  the  cattle  fattened  rapidly. 
During  the  spring  and  summer  months  we  marketed 
all  that  were  in  proper  condition,  still  receiving  excel- 
lent prices.  About  the  first  of  August  brother  Zack 
and  I  rigged  up  our  pack  mules  and  started  back  to 
meet  James  and  Robert  who  had  turned  back  the  year 
before  to  gather  up  another  herd  and  bring  it  across 
the  plains  during  the  summer.  We  passed  over  the 
mountains  and  reached  the  sixty-mile  desert,  which 
was  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  back  on  the 
plains  from  our  ranch.  In  all  the  year  we  had  heard 
nothing  from  home,  and  the  only  information  we  had 
that  they  were  on  the  road  was  the  promise  they  made 
us  as  they  left  our  train  the  year  before. 

We  camped  just  at  the  western  edge  of  the  desert 
and  during  the  night  a  train  pulled  in  off  the  desert. 
We  inquired  of  them  next  morning  whether  they  had 
.seen  or  heard  of  Gibson's  train.  They  said  they  had 
passed  it  somewhere  on  Humboldt  River,  but  could  not 
give  the  exact  location.  They  also  told  us  the  Indians 
had  killed  one  of  the  Gibson  boys.  They  did  not  know 
which  one — had  just  heard  of  the  circumstance  as  they 
passed.  This  sad  news  was  a  great  blow  to  us.  We 
broke  camp  hurriedly  and  started  across  the  desert, 
weighed  down  by  the  sad  reflection  that  we  would 


SOJOURN  IN  CALIFORNIA  99 

meet  only  one  of  our  brothers — both  equally  dear,  not 
only  from  boyhood  association  and  ties  of  kindred,  but 
from  association  in  hardship  across  the  dreary  plains. 
We  carried  our  weight  of  sorrow  all  that  day  and  all 
the  following  night,  across  the  barren  sand,  and  at  day- 
light we  could  barely  make  out  Humboldt  Lake  in  the 
distance.  Upon  closer  approach  we  saw  a  large  herd 
of  cattle  just  being  rounded  up  preparatory  to  the 
start  across  the  desert.  We  hurried  forward,  hoping 
it  was  the  train  we  were  looking  for,  and  yet  fearing  to 
know  the  truth  of  the  rumor  we  had  heard.  A  few  mo- 
ments dispelled  our  doubts.  It  was  Gibson's  train  and 
Brother  James  was  alone  with  his  cattle  and  his  men. 
Robert,  our  mother's  baby,  seventeen  years  old,  was 
the  victim.  Brother  James,  with  tears  streaming  down 
his  sunburnt  face,  related  to  us  the  manner  of  his  death 
at  the  hands  of  treacherous  Indians,  and  the  train  halt- 
ed on  the  threshold  of  the  desert  long  enough  for  us  to 
hear  the  story  and  dry  the  tears  from  our  eyes. 

He  said  one  day  while  on  their  journey  over  the 
mountains  between  Fort  Laramie  and  the  higher  wa- 
ters of  North  Platte,  and  while  the  herd  was  moving 
forward  in  order,  he  rode  ahead  to  locate  a  camping 
place  for  the  night  and  left  Robert  in  charge. 
He  had  been  gone  but  a  short  time  when  six  Indians 
came  up  to  the  train  and  in  their  way  inquired  for  the 
captain.  One  of  the  men  told  them  he  was  in  the  rear. 
They  rode  back  and  when  they  reached  the  men  in 
the  rear  turned  their  ponies  and  rode  along  with  the 
train  some  distance.  Robert,  who,  though  only  seven- 
teen, had  made  four  trips  across  the  plains  and  under- 
stood the  Indians,  told  the  boys  to  watch  them  as  he 
thought  they  were  up  to  mischief.  He  feared  they  in- 
tended to  get  between  the  wagons,  which  were  travel- 
ing close  up  behind  the  cattle,  and  loose  horses  and 


100  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

mules,  which  were  in  the  extreme  rear,  and  cut  them 
off,  so  he  dropped  back  and  motioned  the  men  who 
were  driving  the  horses  and  mules,  to  close  up  and  at 
the  same  time  stopped  the  wagons.  He  had  the  stock 
driven  around  the  wagons,  thus  placing  them  between 
the  cattle  and  the  wagons,  leaving  the  wagons  in  the 
extreme  rear.  He  then  took  his  place  alongside  the 
cattle.  All  this  time  the  Indians  had  said  nothing,  had 
simply  followed  along  with  the  train.  The  show  of 
authority  was  what  they  were  waiting  for.  They  evi- 
dently could  not  believe  the  boy  they  saw  was  in  fact  the 
captain.  As  soon  as  Robert  took  his  place  by  the  side  of 
the  cattle  three  of  the  Indians  rode  up  by  his  side  and 
began  to  jabber  and  make  signs.  The  other  three  rode 
up  behind  him.  One  of  the  three  behind  had  an  old 
army  musket  and  while  the  three  in  front  engaged 
Robert  the  one  with  the  gun  rode  up  very  close  and 
shot  him  in  the  back.  He  fell  from  his  horse  and  was 
dead  in  an  instant.  The  Indians  whirled  and  galloped 
away  as  fast  as  their  ponies  could  carry  them.  One  of 
the  boys  rode  forward  to  notify  Brother  James  and  met 
him  returning  at  full  speed.  He  had  heard  the  report 
of  the  gun  and  knew  by  the  sound  that  it  was  an  In- 
dian's gun,  and  that  it  meant  mischief  of  some  kind. 
As  soon  as  he  returned  to  the  train  he  mounted  ten 
men  and  armed  them  and  started  after  the  Indians. 
After  following  about  five  miles  he  came  in  sight  of 
them.  About  the  same  moment  the  Indians  spied  him 
and  laid  whip  to  their  ponies.  They  were  making  for 
the  mountains,  but  soon  saw  they  would  be  overtaken 
and  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  A  hot  race 
followed  with  the  white  men  gaining  all  the  time,  but 
the  Indians  reached  the  river  and  plunged  their  ponies 
in.  They  had  hardly  reached  the  farther  shore  when 
James  and  his  men  were  upon  the  bank.  They  fired 


SOJOURN  IN  CALIFORNIA  101 

at  them  but  the  distance  was  too  great  for  the  shots  to 
take  effect.  The  party  thought  it  unwise  to  cross  the 
river  in  pursuit,  as  it  might  be  difficult  to  recross  and 
all  this  time  the  cattle  and  the  train  were  insufficiently 
guarded,  so  they  turned  and  made  their  way  back, 
conscious  that  had  they  overtaken  the  Indians  and 
slain  them  all  such  an  act  could  not  have  restored  Rob- 
ert to  them,  and  their  hearts  would  still  have  been 
heavy  with  their  loss. 

When  they  returned  to  the  train  the  boys  had 
rounded  up  the  cattle  and  were  standing  guard  over 
them  and  the  dead  body.  Nothing  could  be  done  but 
move  on,  but  what  was  to  be  done  with  Robert's  body? 
James  said  to  attempt  a  burial  where  the  wolves  and 
coyotes  would  dig  the  body  up  was  out  of  the  question, 
and  then  he  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  leaving  him 
alone  on  those  desolate  mountains.  So  he  put  the 
body  in  one  of  the  wagons  and  carried  it  forward  two 
days  journey,  where  they  came  to  a  trading  post  on  the 
upper  crossing  of  North  Platte  kept  by  an  old  French- 
man. There  they  procured  a  wagon  box  which  they 
used  for  a  coffin  and  buried  him  the  best  they  could 
and  protected  the  grave  from  wolves.  James,  learning 
that  the  Frenchman  intended  to  go  back  to  St.  Joseph 
in  about  two  months,  employed  him  to  take  the  body 
back  with  him  and  gave  him  an  order  for  five  hundred 
dollars  in  gold  on  Robert  Donnell.  I  may  as  well  re- 
late here  that  the  Frenchman  kept  his  promise,  brought 
the  body  back  and  got  his  money,  and  that  Robert  now 
lies  buried  in  the  old  family  cemetery  in  Tremont 
Township.  I  learned  this  on  my  return,  and  that 
mother  identified  the  body  by  examining  the  toes, 
one  of  which  Robert  had  lost  in  an  accident  when  quite 
a  little  boy. 


102  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

Although  the  story  was  a  sad  one  and  our  hearts 
were  very  heavy,  still  we  could  not  tarry  with  our  grief. 
The  cattle  must  cross  the  desert  and  reach  food  and 
water  beyond.  James  asked  if  we  had  had  breakfast. 
I  told  him  we  had  not — that  we  had  traveled  hard  all 
night,  but  that  we  had  a  camp  outfit  and  would  pre- 
pare something  after  the  cattle  had  started  across  the 
desert.  When  the  train  was  under  full  way,  we  stir- 
red the  coals  of  their  camp  fire,  threw  on  some  grease- 
wood  brush  and  soon  prepared  bread  and  meat  and 
coffee.  The  mules  browsed  on  grease  wood  and  we 
rested  a  couple  of  hours  and  then  started  after  the 
train.  All  that  day  and  all  the  next  night — a  steady 
drive,  only  now  and  then  an  hour's  halt  for  food  for 
ourselves  and  rest  for  the  cattle.  By  eleven  o'clock  the 
following  morning  we  were  on  Carson  River,  and  glad 
we  were,  too.  Zack  and  I  had  crossed  over,  taking 
twenty-four  hours  and  back  thirty  hours — fifty-four 
hours  without  sleep  or  rest  except  two  hours  at  the 
end  of  our  first  journey.  In  all  my  travels,  and  I  look 
at  it  now  after  more  than  fifty  years,  with  the  exper- 
iences of  the  Civil  War  intervening,  I  have  never  seen 
a  place  so  beautiful  as  Carson  River  and  valley,  not 
because  it  is  more  picturesque  or  naturally  more  en- 
chanting than  many  places  I  have  seen,  but  because 
it  was  so  welcome  with  its  cold  mountain  waters  and 
fresh  green  vegetation  after  our  weary  journeys  across 
the  barren  desert,  and  I  never  thought  it  more  beau- 
tiful to  behold  than  on  this,  my  last  visit. 

Men,  cattle  and  horses  all  took  a  good  long  rest, 
but  the  train  was  up  and  many  miles  on  the  road  be- 
fore Zack  and  I  awoke  and  followed.  Two  weeks  more 
and  the  cattle  were  safe  on  the  ranch  and  we  were 


SOJOURN  IN  CALIFORNIA  103 

off  duty  once  more,  and  as  events  transpired,  off  the 
plains  for  all  time — after  nearly  seven  years  of  almost 
constant  hardship. 

During  the  fall  of  1855  and  the  spring  of  1856  we 
marketed  off  the  fat  cattle.  Sold  Graham  and  Henry 
of  Georgetown  five  hundred  head  to  be  delivered 
fifty  head  every  two  weeks.  Georgetown  was  a  mining 
camp  one  hundred  miles  northeast  of  our  ranch.  Our 
cattle  were  scattered  over  our  own  ranch  and  the 
ranches  of  Phillips,  Wolfscale  and  Barker,  and  were 
well  mixed  with  their  wild  cattle  and  horses.  It  rained 
almost  constantly.  The  plains  were  boggy  and  the 
streams  full  of  water.  We  had  no  time  to  lose  and 
were  in  the  saddle  almost  day  and  night,  if  not  on  the 
road  to  Georgetown,  then  rounding  up  and  sorting  out 
the  cattle.  We  delivered  the  first  fifty  head  on  the  fif- 
teenth day  of  October  and  the  last  on  the  first  of 
April,  and  were  glad  when  our  task  was  over. 

The  summer  following  passed  without  event 
worthy  of  mention.  In  the  fall  we  sold  Graham  & 
Henry  three  hundred  more  cattle  to  be  delivered  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  first,  and  had  much  the  same 
experience,  except  that  our  work  did  not  last  so  long. 

In  the  fall  of  fifty-seven,  we  sold  our  fat  cattle  and 
dairy  cows  to  Miller  &  Lux,  wholesale  dealers  in  cattle 
in  San  Francisco.  Delivery  there  was  not  so  difficult. 
Our  ranch  was  but  twenty  miles  from  San  Francisco 
Bay,  and  after  a  drive  to  the  shore  of  the  bay  the  cattle 
were  shipped  across  to  the  city.  In  the  spring  of  eigh- 
teen hundred  and  fifty-eight,  Brother  Isaac  withdrew 
from  the  business  and  returned  to  Missouri.  We  gave 
him  fourteen  thousand  dollars  in  gold  and  deeded  him 
sixty  acres  of  land  in  Tremont  Township,  Buchanan 
County,  for  his  interest.  We  continued  the  business 
through  the  year  1859  as  partners.  Brother  William 


104  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

remained  with  us,  but  had  his  own  cattle  and  kept 
them  on  our  ranch.  Zack  and  I  still  had  about  one 
thousand  head  of  stock  cattle,  and  during  the  year,  we 
bought  several  lots  both  of  stock  cattle  and  heifers. 
One  bunch  of  a  hundred  heifers  we  turned  over  to 
James  Glenn  and  Barsh  Kessler,  Buchanan  County 
boys,  to  keep  three  years  and  breed  for  us,  with  the  un- 
derstanding they  were  to  have  half  of  the  increase  as 
pay  for  their  trouble.  Another  bunch  of  fifty  heifers 
was  turned  over  to  Perry  Jones,  another  Buchanan 
County  boy,  on  the  same  terms. 

Toward  Christmas  we  heard  that  our  mother  had 
died.  This  left  our  old  father  alone  on  the  farm  with 
the  negroes,  and  we  decided  to  leave  our  cattle  in  the 
care  of  Jones,  Glenn  and  Kessler  and  go  back  and  visit 
him.  It  was  too  late  in  the  season  to  attempt  the 
plains.  The  hot,  dry  summer  on  the  plains  had 
parched  and  withered  the  scant  vegetation  that  had 
grown  in  the  spring  and  early  summer,  and  the  exces- 
sive cold  and  accumulations  of  snow  in  the  higher  alti- 
tudes, rendered  a  trip  by  land  almost  impossible  in 
winter,  so,  much  as  we  disliked  the  trip  by  water,  we 
decided  to  make  it.  I  will  not  attempt  to  relate  the 
incidents  of  this  trip,  as  they  were  unimportant.  There 
was,  besides,  little  to  distinguish  it  from  the  first  voy- 
age over  the  same  route,  which  I  have  already  de- 
scribed. 

After  reaching  home  we  remained  with  our  father 
until  the  first  of  May,  when  the  start  back  overland 
must  be  made.  It  was  decided  that  one  of  us  must  re- 
main with  father,  and  as  Zack  and  I  were  in  partner- 
ship and  William  was  alone  in  his  business,  the  choice 
of  remaining  at  home  lay  between  Zack  and  myself, 
as  either  of  us  could  easily  care  for  our  cattle.  I  gave 


SOJOURN  IN  CALIFORNIA  105 

the  choice  to  Zack  and  he  decided  he  would  go,  and  he 
and  William,  accordingly,  rigged  up  our  outfit  and 
started. 

I  took  charge  of  the  farm  at  home  and  with  the 
help  of  the  negroes,  managed  it  through  the  season, 
and  thus  relieved  father  of  all  worry  and  responsibil- 
ity. He  had  his  horse  and  buggy  and  a  black  boy  to 
care  for  it  and  drive  him  about  the  farm  and  over  the 
neighborhood.  Everything  moved  along  in  the  usual 
way  and  I  had  a  pleasant  and  restful  summer — not  so 
much  restful  from  work,  but  restful  compared  with  the 
excitement  and  over-exertion  incident  to  a  journey 
with  cattle  across  the  plains.  I  congratulated  myself 
upon  the  choice  Zack  had  made  and  was  preparing 
for  a  year  or  two  more  of  peace  and  quiet,  but  the 
death  of  my  father  the  following  fall  left  me  alone 
with  the  farm  and  negroes.  I  remained  with  them 
throughout  the  winter,  lonely  and  unpleasant  as  it  was 
without  my  father,  and  planted  and  harvested  most  of 
the  crop  in  sixty-one  under  many  trying  conditions. 
Stirring  public  events  which  began  with  the  breaking 
out  of  the  war  interrupted  my  farming  operations, 
and  my  part  in  them  will  furnish  the  material  for  sev- 
eral succeeding  chapters. 


CHAPTER  X. 
Beginning  of  the  War. 

Shortly  after  the  beginning  of  the  war,  Elijah 
Gates  organized  a  company  of  southern  boys,  and  most 
of  my  neighbors  enlisted  for  six  months.  They  wanted 
me  to  join  them,  but  I  said  "no."  I  had  been  in  camp 
for  ten  years  and  had  some  idea  of  the  hardship  of  a 
soldier's  life.  I  knew  my  place  there  on  the  farm 
would  give  me  a  far  better  opportunity  to  take  the 
rest  I  felt  to  be  so  needful  after  my  years  of  activity 
on  the  plains  and  in  camp,  and  I  could  not  be  easily 
induced  to  leave  it.  Besides,  I  could  not  believe  that 
a  terrible  war  was  upon  us,  and  for  a  long  time  I  had 
great  faith  that  wise  counsel  would  prevail  and  some 
reasonable  adjustment  be  made  of  the  differences  be- 
tween the  North  and  the  South. 

Gates'  company  and  the  regiment  to  which  it  had 
been  assigned  left  home  with  a  great  flying  of  colors, 
but  notwithstanding  my  expressed  sympathy  with  the 
South,  this  did  not  tempt  me  and  I  remained  at  home 
with  my  crop.  I  took  no  part  in  the  wild  talk  that 
could  be  heard  on  every  hand  and  paid  close  attention 
to  my  own  business,  but  I  soon  found  that  I  would  not 
be  permitted  to  live  in  peace.  The  Southern  boys  had 
no  sooner  left  for  the  front  than  the  opposition  began 
to  pour  in  around  me.  My  sentiments  were  well 
known — in  fact  I  had  never  tried  to  conceal  them,  be- 
lieving that  a  man  in  this  country  had  a  right  to  his 
opinions,  but  no  man  could  point  to  a  hostile  word 
uttered  by  me.  Notwithstanding  this,  those  who  were 
not  willing  to  allow  me  to  hold  my  opinions  in  peace 
began  to  harass  and  threaten  me.  I  endured  it  until 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  WAR  107 

about  the  first  of  August,  when  I  saddled  my  horse, 
buckled  my  navies  around  me  and  started  alone  to 
join  the  Southern  army.  I  rode  to  Liberty  where  I  ex- 
pected to  fall  in  with  a  company  that  I  had  heard  was 
being  organized,  but  it  had  gone.  I  met  a  man  from 
St.  Joseph  by  the  name  of  Walter  Scott,  who  was  like- 
wise disappointed  at  arriving  too  late  for  the  company, 
and  he  and  I  set  out  together  to  join  Price  in  Arkan- 
sas. We  rode  slowly  along,  stopping  at  night  at  farm 
houses  and  talked  little  to  anyone  about  our  plans. 
When  within  about  ten  miles  of  Springfield  we  stopped 
for  the  night  with  a  man  who  told  us  that  Lyon's  army 
was  at  Springfield  and  that  Price  was  camped  at  Wil- 
son's Creek,  about  ten  miles  southwest  of  Springfield. 
I  knew  there  was  going  to  be  a  fight,  and  I  slept 
little  that  night.  It  came  sooner  than  I  expected,  for 
about  sun  up  next  morning  we  heard  cannon  off  to  the 
southwest.  We  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  without  wait- 
ing for  breakfast,  saddled  our  horses  and  galloped 
away.  I  knew  Gates'  company  and  my  neighbors  were 
in  the  fight  and  I  wanted  to  help  all  I  could.  We  had 
no  trouble  finding  the  way  as  the  cannon  and  muskets 
were  roaring  like  loud  thunder  and  the  smoke  was 
boiling  up  out  of  the  valley  like  a  black  cloud.  We 
guessed  right  that  Lyon  had  advanced  out  of  Spring- 
field and  was  between  us  and  Price's  army,  but  we 
hurried  on  expecting  to  take  care  of  that  situation 
after  getting  closer  to  the  battle.  When  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  battle  ground  the  firing  ceased  and  short- 
ly afterwards  we  saw  Federal  soldiers  coming  toward 
us.  We  galloped  away  from  the  road  and  hid  behind 
a  cliff  of  rock  and  watched  them  go  by.  They  were 
completely  disorganized.  Every  man  was  pulling  for 
Springfield  in  his  own  way,  from  five  to  fifty  in  a 
bunch,  the  bunches  from  one  to  three  hundred  yards 


108  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

apart.  Some  had  guns,  some  had  none.  Some  had 
hats,  some  were  bare-headed.  Every  battery  horse  car- 
ried two  and  some  carried  three — all  hurrying  on.  We 
finally  grew  tired,  and  at  the  first  opportunity  dashed 
across  the  road  between  squads  and  made  our  way 
along  a  by-path  toward  the  battlefield.  We  had  not 
gone  far  until  we  met  wounded  men  trying  also  to 
make  their  way  back  to  Springfield.  Some  would  walk 
a  short  distance  and  get  sick  and  lie  down  by  the 
roadside  and  beg  for  water.  Some  would  hobble  on 
in  great  misery,  stopping  now  and  then  to  rest.  Others, 
and  the  more  fortunate  it  seemed  to  me,  had  crawled 
off  in  the  brush  and  died. 

In  advancing  we  found  it  would  be  necessary  to 
cross  the  main  battlefield  in  order  to  reach  Price's 
camp  which  was  located  down  on  the  farther  side 
of  Wilson's  Creek.  Here  we  found  the  dead  lying  so 
thick  that  we  had  to  pick  our  way  and  then  often  had 
difficulty  in  going  forward  without  riding  over  a  dead 
body. 

We  reached  the  camp  and  asked  to  be  shown  to 
Gates'  company.  All  were  glad  to  see  us  and  made 
many  inquiries  about  home  and  families  and  friends. 
They  were  just  cooking  breakfast.  William  Maupin 
apologized  for  their  late  breakfast  by  saying  that 
"Pap"  Price  had  called  upon  them  very  early  to  do  a 
little  piece  of  work  and  they  had  just  finished  it  and 
that  had  delayed  their  breakfast.  I  told  them  what  I 
had  seen  on  the  road  down  and  up  upon  the  battlefield, 
and  asked  how  their  company  had  fared.  They  told 
me  that  one  man,  George  Shultz,  was  shot  through  the 
head  the  first  round  and  that  was  the  only  loss  their 
company  had  sustained.  This  was  the  tenth  day  of 
August,  1861. 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  WAR  109 

Next  day  I  helped  bury  the  dead  Federal  soldiers, 
and  when  this  was  done  Price  moved  his  army  up  to 
Springfield,  as  the  Union  army  had  in  the  meantime 
gone  back  to  St.  Louis.  We  remained  there  some  two 
or  three  weeks.  During  my  stay,  Mrs.  Phelps,  the  wife 
of  Colonel  Phelps,  who  commanded  a  regiment  in 
Lyon's  army  at  Wilson's  Creek,  and  who  had  gone  with 
the  army  to  St.  Louis,  called  on  General  Price  for  pro- 
tection. She  lived  about  two  miles  east  of  Springfield, 
and  by  the  way,  if  I  remember  correctly,  General  Ly- 
on  was  buried  out  at  her  place.  Price  sent  Gates 
with  his  company,  and  as  I  had  joined  that  company,  I 
went  along.  We  remained  there  as  long  as  Price  was 
camped  in  Springfield  and  took  good  care  of  her 
premises. 

Price  decided  to  go  north  and  this  greatly  pleased 
the  boys.  He  had  no  army — just  a  lot  of  boys  who 
furnished  their  own  horses,  guns,  ammunition  and 
blankets  and  most  of  the  time  their  own  provisions. 
He  had  little,  or  at  least  he  didn't  attempt  to  have 
much,  discipline.  We  elected  our  own  lieutenant,  cap- 
tain and  colonel  by  vote,  and  General  Price  seemed  en- 
tirely satisfied  so  long  as  we  were  all  on  hands  when 
there  was  any  fighting  to  be  done. 

When  we  reached  Little  Osage  River  on  our  way 
north,  Price  went  into  camp  and  next  day  sent  Gates 
out  on  a  scout.  Gates  went  in  the  direction  of  Fort 
Scott.  We  traveled  about  fifteen  miles  and  came  with- 
in a  short  distance  of  the  Fort  where  we  found  two 
soldiers  herding  a  drove  of  horses  and  mules  on  the 
grass.  Lane  was  in  Fort  Scott  with  a  large  force,  but 
evidently  he  had  no  idea  Price  was  anywhere  near  for 
he  had  no  pickets  out.  We  made  a  run  for  the  horses 
and  mules  and  took  them  and  tried  to  get  both  men, 
but  one  of  them  got  away.  We  knew  he  would  report 


110  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

and  that  would  give  us  trouble.  If  we  could  only  have 
secured  both  men  we  could  have  had  the  entire  herd 
in  our  camp  before  Lane  could  have  discovered  that  it 
was  gone.  We  determined  to  do  our  best  and  get 
away  if  possible.  Each  horse  and  mule  had  a  long 
rope  attached  to  his  neck  which  dragged  along  be- 
hind and  this  gave  us  much  trouble  and  prevented  fast 
traveling,  as  the  horses  stepped  on  the  ropes  and 
checked  their  speed.  We  got  some  four  or  five  miles 
away  and  when  on  top  of  a  high  hill  we  looked  back 
across  the  prairie  and  saw  what  appeared  to  be  about 
two  thousand  mounted  soldiers  coming  in  hot  haste  af- 
ter us.  Gates  had  but  five  hundred  men.  The  ground 
was  hilly  and  Gates  picked  a  few  men  and  sent  them 
on  with  the  horses.  He  then  stopped  half  his  men 
just  over  the  turn  of  the  first  hill,  dismounted  them 
and  detailed  every  fourth  man  to  take  the  horses 
further  down  the  slant  and  hold  them.  The  remainder 
lay  flat  dowrn  on  the  ground.  The  other  half  of  his 
company  he  sent  over  beyond  the  next  hill  with  direc- 
tions to  follow  the  same  course.  When  our  pursuers 
were  a  little  more  than  half  way  up  the  hill  coming 
toward  us,  we  arose  and  fired  into  them.  Lane  dis- 
mounted his  men  and  threw  them  in  line  of  battle.  By 
that  time  we  were  on  our  horses  and  gone.  They 
could  not  see  that  we  were  gone  and  approached  the 
top  of  the  hill  with  great  caution.  This  caused  delay 
and  that  was  what  we  wanted.  When  they  found  we 
were  gone  they  mounted  and  followed.  When  about 
half  way  up  the  next  hill  the  other  half  of  our  com- 
pany gave  them  another  round  and,  as  they  feared  we 
intended  this  time  to  make  a  stand,  they  again  dis- 
mounted and  prepared  to  fight.  They  were  again  dis- 
appointed. This  was  kept  up  for  several  miles.  When 
we  first  saw  we  were  pursued  a  courier  was  sent  to 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  WAR  111 

Price,  but  before  Price  could  rally  his  army  and  reach 
us  Lane  gave  up  the  idea  of  recovering  his  horses  and 
went  back  to  Fort  Scott.  We  had  one  man  wounded 
in  the  arm. 

We  all  returned  to  camp  on  Little  Osage  and  next 
morning  broke  camp  and  started  off  as  usual.  I  did 
not  know  the  plan,  but  when  Gates'  company  was 
placed  in  front  and  led  off  over  the  same  road 
we  had  traveled  the  day  before,  I  knew  an  attack 
on  Fort  Scott  was  in  mind.  When  about  ten  miles 
out  we  came  to  the  top  of  a  hill  overlooking  a  wooded 
valley  with  a  small  dry  creek  running  through  it.  We 
could  see  a  long  distance  across  the  valley  into  the 
prairie  hills  beyond,  but  could  see  no  sign  of  soldiers. 
The  whole  force  halted  and  Gates  was  directed  to  go 
forward  across  the  valley  and  through  the  timber, 
which  I  judge  was  nearly  a  mile  in  width.  We  passed 
down  the  hill  and  went  very  cautiously  through  the 
woods,  but  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  to  arouse 
suspicion.  On  reaching  the  farther  side  of  the  timber 
we  stopped  and  got  off  our  horses  to  rest  and  allow 
them  to  graze.  The  whole  company  was  entirely  off 
guard  and  the  boys  were  talking  and  laughing  and 
having  a  good  time,  when  suddenly  cannon  and  mus- 
kets began  to  roar  behind  us. 

We  soon  saw  what  had  happened.  The  Federal 
troops  lay  concealed  in  the  timber  and  on  discovering 
that  we  were  but  an  advance  guard,  allowed  us  to  pass, 
guessing  aright  that  Price,  after  allowing  us  time  to 
pass  through,  would,  if  we  were  not  molested,  move 
his  main  force  forward.  Price  had  followed  us  and 
the  guns  we  heard  were  the  beginning  of  the  attack 
upon  him.  In  a  moment  every  man  was  in  the  saddle. 
We  dashed  back  through  the  timber  and  found  that 
Lane  had  advanced  and  attacked  Price  in  the  open 


112  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

and  while  in  the  line  of  march.  We  could  see  some  con- 
fusion, and  it  took  a  good  while  to  get  the  men  up  out 
of  the  line  of  march  and  in  a  position  to  fight.  Bled- 
soe's  battery,  however,  was  in  action  and  Lane's  men 
charged  and  captured  it,  wounding  Bledsoe.  Presently 
two  regiments  came  up  and  recaptured  the  battery. 
By  that  time  a  second  battery  had  come  up  and 
opened  fire.  We  were  still  in  the  rear  of  Lane  and  in 
great  danger  from  our  own  men.  We  picked  a  time 
when  everybody  on  both  sides  seemed  to  be  engaged 
and  started  around  to  the  right  of  Lane  and  up  the 
crest  of  a  long  ridge  that  led  to  the  top  of  the  hill. 
When  about  half  way  to  the  top  a  company  of  cavalry 
started  up  a  little  valley  to  our  left  to  cut  us  off.  We 
had  the  best  horses  and  a  little  the  advantage  in  dis- 
tance. Besides  we  were  going  toward  our  own  army 
and  getting  safer  all  the  time,  while  the  company  pur- 
suing us  was  all  the  time  getting  closer  to  danger.  We 
hoped  they  would  follow  until  a  company  of  our  men 
could  cut  in  between  them  and  their  main  force,  but 
they  were  too  cautious  for  that  and  abandoned  the 
chase.  We  galloped  around,  reaching  our  forces  just 
as  the  fight  was  over. 

When  our  whole  force  was  brought  up  and  placed 
in  fighting  line  the  situation  got  too  severe  for  an 
army  with  a  good  shelter  behind  it,  so  Lane's  men 
broke  ranks  and  started  for  the  timber.  They  made  no 
attempt  to  rally  and  come  again,  but  went  directly  on 
to  Fort  Scott.  The  road  was  dry  and  the  dust  fogged 
up  through  the  timber  like  a  black  cloud  and  made 
a  good  target  for  our  batteries.  Lane  lost  more  men 
and  horses  in  the  retreat  through  the  timber  than  in 
the  main  fight.  Price  crossed  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  valley  and  camped  for  the  night.  Next  morning 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  WAR  *     113 

very  early  he  sent  a  scouting  party  with  directions  to 
ascertain  as  far  as  possible  the  probable  strength  of 
the  forces  in  Fort  Scott.  The  party  found  the  place 
completely  evacuated  and  so  reported.  Price  made  no 
attempt  to  follow,  but  continued  his  journey  to  the 
north. 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  Battle  of  Lexington. 

When  within  a  few  miles  of  Warrensburg,  we 
learned  that  a  portion  of  Mulligan's  force  was  camped 
there.  We  camped  for  the  night  and  next  morning 
discovered  that  the  detachment  had  gone  during  the 
night  to  join  the  main  force  at  Lexington.  Gates  was 
ordered  to  follow  them.  We  traveled  all  day  on  a 
forced  march,  and  when  within  a  short  distance  of 
Lexington  were  fired  upon  from  both  sides  of  the  road 
from  behind  corn  shocks.  We  hastily  dismounted  and 
commenced  shooting  at  the  corn  shocks.  The  firing 
from  behind  then  soon  ceased  and  the  men  hurried 
away  towards  Lexington.  We  followed,  but  as  we  were 
then  less  than  a  mile  from  the  town  we  thought  it  un- 
wise to  go  too  close  until  our  main  force  came  up. 

Next  day  Price  came  up  and  made  his  headquar- 
ters in  the  fair  ground  just  south  of  town.  We  camped 
there  three  days  picket-fighting  but  getting  ready  all 
the  time  to  attack  Mulligan  behind  his  breast-works. 
We  had  to  mold  our  bullets  and  make  our  cartridges 
and  when  sufficient  ammunition  had  been  prepared 
we  were  ready.  We  marched  up  and  were  met  at  the 
edge  of  the  town  where  the  fighting  began.  We 
marched  down  the  sidewalks  on  each  side  of  the  streets 
with  a  battery  in  the  center  of  the  roadway.  Mulli- 
gan's men  fought  well  and  kept  the  street  full  of  mus- 
ket balls,  but  when  the  battery  would  belch  out  its 
grape  shot  they  had  to  go  back.  I  well  remember,  that 
at  every  opportunity  we  would  jerk  the  picket  fences 
down  and  go  in  behind  the  brick  walls  to  shun  the  bul- 
lets. When  the  end  of  the  wall  was  reached  we  had 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LEXINGTON  115 

to  step  out  on  the  sidewalk  and  face  the  music.  They 
made  a  great  effort  to  keep  us  out  of  town  before  they 
went  behind  their  breast-works,  but  they  had  to  go. 

When  Mulligan  reached  and  went  behind  his  for- 
tifications we  closed  in  and  surrounded  him  except 
upon  the  side  next  the  river.  Price  sent  a  regiment  up 
the  river  and  one  down  the  river.  They  charged  and 
captured  those  portions  of  the  breast-works  which  pre- 
vented us  from  getting  to  the  river  front  and  thus  in 
their  rear.  This  was  done  late  in  the  evening  and 
Gates'  regiment  lay  on  the  hillside  behind  a  plank 
fence  all  night  to  prevent  a  recapture.  They  made  sev- 
eral attempts  during  the  night  but  failed  each  time. 

The  warehouses  were  full  of  hemp  bales,  and  next 
morning  we  got  them  out  and  rolled  them  up  the  hill  in 
front  of  us — two  men  to  the  bale — both  keeping  well 
down  behind  it.  When  we  got  in  sight  of  their  ditches 
we  had  a  long  line  of  hemp  bales  two  deep  in  front 
of  us,  and  then  the  fight  commenced  in  earnest.  They 
shot  small  arms  from  their  ditches  and  cannon  balls 
from  their  batteries.  Sometimes  a  ball  would  knock 
down  one  of  our  top  bales,but  it  soon  went  back  in  place 
We  brought  our  battery  up  behind  the  breastworks  and 
by  taking  the  top  bale  off  we  made  an  excellent  port- 
hole for  the  muzzles  of  our  guns.  The  fight  went  on 
some  two  or  three  hours  in  this  way.  They  in  their 
ditches  and  we  crouched  behind  our  hemp  bales. 
Every  time  a  man  showed  his  head  half  a  dozen  took 
a  shot  at  him.  They  soon  learned  to  keep  their  heads 
down,  but  they  would  put  their  hats  on  gun  sticks 
and  hold  them  up  for  us  to  shoot  at,  but  we  soon  dis- 
covered this  device  and  wasted  very  few  bullets  after- 
wards. 


116  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

If  this  situation  continued  it  looked  as  if  the  siege 
might  last  a  month,  so  we  decided  to  move  closer.  The 
top  bales  were  pushed  off  and  rolled  forward  with 
two  men  lying  nearly  flat  behind  each  bale.  When 
within  forty  yards  of  the  trenches  the  front  row  halted 
and  waited  for  the  rear  line  of  bales  to  come  up.  It 
took  but  a  moment  to  hoist  the  one  upon  the  other  and 
thus  we  put  our  breastworks  in  much  better  position. 
Our  batteries  came  up  with  little  trouble,  as  we  covered 
the  opposite  line  so  completely  that  no  one  dared  to 
raise  his  head  and  shoot.  Their  batteries  were  posted 
on  an  exposed  hill  some  two  hundred  yards  away, 
but  not  a  man  was  to  be  seen  about  them.  Their  gun- 
ners had  all  gone  to  the  trenches.  Our  only  suffering 
was  when  moving  our  hemp  bales  up  the  first  time,  and 
again  when  we  advanced  them  the  second  time,  as  at 
these  times  we  were  too  busy  to  return  the  fire,  but  we 
were  well  protected  and  lost  very  few  men. 

We  lay  in  this  position  for  three  days.  Mulligan's 
trench  must  have  been  nearly  two  miles  long.  We  had 
no  idea  what  was  going  on  at  any  other  point,  but 
guessed  the  situation  was  very  much  the  same  along 
the  whole  line.  We  could  hear  through  the  woods  a 
single  gun  now  and  then,  reminding  us  more  of  a 
squirrel  hunt  than  a  battle.  At  the  end  of  three  days 
Mulligan  surrendered.  We  were  glad  to  see  the  white 
flag,  not  so  much  because  it  meant  victory  for  us  as 
because  we  were  hungry  and  tired. 

Mulligan  marched  his  men  out  and  had  them  stack 
arms.  Then  we  marched  them  away  from  their  arms 
and  lined  them  up  unarmed.  Price  took  charge  and 
put  a  guard  around  them,  and  then  paroled  them  and 
sent  them  home.  Some  of  them  went  back  to  Buchan- 
an County  where  they  told  friends  of  ours  that  Price 
had  no  privates  in  his  army;  that  they  saw  nobody  un- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LEXINGTON  117 

der  a  lieutenant.  They  may  have  reached  this  conclu- 
sion from  the  way  all  left  the  hemp  bales  and  went  up 
to  see  the  surrender. 

Price  went  back  to  Springfield  and  Gates  and  his 
company  came  home.  Billy  Bridgeman,  a  nephew  of 
mine  who  lived  near  Bigelow,  in  Holt  County,  was  with 
us  and  when  we  reached  my  home  he  wanted  me  to  go 
on  with  him  to  his  home.  It  was  a  dangerous  trip. 
St.  Joe,  Savannah,  Forest  City  and  Oregon  were  full 
of  soldiers.  We  left  home  in  the  morning  about  day- 
light, passed  up  east  and  north  of  St.  Joe,  crossed  the 
Nodaway  River  just  above  its  junction  with  the  Mis- 
souri, hurried  across  the  main  road  between  Oregon 
and  Forest  City,  where  we  were  most  apt  to  be  dis- 
covered, and  reached  his  home  on  Little  Fork,  about 
night.  We  remained  there  about  three  days  when 
some  zealous  female  patriot  saw  us  and  reported 
us.  We  learned  that  we  had  been  reported  and  kept  a 
close  watch  all  day  and  at  night,  feeling  sure  that  the 
Forest  City  company  would  try  to  capture  us,  we  sad- 
dle'd  our  horses  and  rode  out  away  from  home.  It  was 
bright  moonlight,  and  when  about  two  miles  from 
home  we  heard  them  coming  and  stopped  in  the 
shadow  of  some  trees.  When  they  got  within  forty 
yards  of  us  we  fired  into  them  with  our  navies,  and 
kept  it  up  until  we  had  emptied  our  six-shooters.  They 
whirled  and  ran  back  as  fast  as  their  horses  could  carry 
them.  We  loaded  our  guns  and  followed.  The  first 
house  they  passed  one  man  jumped  off  his  horse  and 
left  him  standing  in  the  road.  We  stopped  at  the  fence 
and  called.  A  woman  came  out  of  the  house.  I  asked 
her  if  any  soldiers  had  passed  there.  She  said — I  use 
her  words  just  as  she  uttered  them:  "Yes,  they  went 


118  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

down  the  road  a  few  minutes  ago  like  the  devil  was 
after  them."  Billy  and  I  did  not  know  we  had  scared 
them  so. 

The  fine  mare  Billy's  father  had  given  him  hurt 
her  foot  in  some  way  and  was  limping  badly,  so  he  pul- 
led off  the  saddle  and  bridle  and  turned  her  loose.  She 
started  at  once  for  home,  and  Billy  saddled  up  the 
horse  that  had  been  left  and  we  started  on.  It  was 
then  midnight  and  we  had  sixty  miles  before  us.  It 
was  dangerous  to  ride  in  daylight,  but  more  dangerous 
to  stop  anywhere  on  the  road  as  we  had  no  friends  or 
acquaintances  on  the  way.  We  could  do  nothing  but 
go  on  and  take  chances.  When,  early  in  the  forenoon, 
we  reached  the  ford  of  the  Nodaway  on  the  old  Hack- 
berry  road  leading  from  Oregon  to  Savannah,  we  met 
a  man  who  told  us  that  a  regiment  of  soldiers  had  left 
Savannah  that  morning  for  Oregon.  We  crossed  the 
river  and  turned  to  the  right,  leaving  the  main  road 
and  picking  our  way  to  the  bluffs  of  the  Missouri  and 
down  along  these  bluffs  to  a  point  just  above  St.  Jo- 
seph. There  we  left  the  bluffs  and  went  across  the 
country  to  Garrettsburg  on  Platte  River  and  reached 
home  just  at  night.  I  called  our  old  black  woman  out 
of  the  house  and  asked  her  if  she  had  heard  of  any 
soldiers  in  the  neighborhood  and  if  she  thought  it 
would  be  safe  for  us  to  stop  for  supper.  She  said  she 
had  heard  of  no  soldiers  and  she  thought  there  would 
be  no  danger,  but  that  Brother  Isaac  and  George  Boyer 
were  up  at  Brother  James'  house  waiting  for  us,  so  we 
rode  on  up  there. 

We  watered  and  fed  our  tired  and  hungry  horses 
and  had  a  good  supper — the  first  mouthful  since  sup- 
per the  night  before — and  all  sat  down  to  rest  and 
talk.  The  house  was  a  large  two-story  frame  building 
fronting  north,  built  upon  a  plan  that  was  very  popu- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LEXINGTON  119 

lar  in  those  days.  A  wide  hall  into  which  the  front 
door  entered  from  a  portico,  separated  two  large 
rooms — one  on  the  right  and  the  other  on  the  left.  A 
long  ell  joined  up  to  the  west  room  or  end  and  extended 
back  to  the  rear.  A  wide  porch  extended  along  the  east 
side  of  the  ell  and  along  the  south  side  of  the  east  room 
of  the  front  or  main  part  of  the  building.  A  door  in 
the  rear  of  the  front  hall  opened  upon  this  porch,  while 
doors  from  each  of  the  rooms  in  the  ell  also  led  out 
upon  the  porch.  We  were  all  in  the  east  front  room 
with  Brother  James  and  his  family.  Brother  Isaac  and 
I  were  talking  over  our  business  affairs.  Bridgeman 
had  lain  down  upon  a  sofa  and  dropped  off  to  sleep, 
and  Boyer  and  Brother  James  and  his  family  were 
chatting  pleasantly,  when  a  company  of  soldiers 
sneaked  up  and  stationed  themselves  around  the  house. 
After  they  were  sufficiently  posted  the  captain  gave 
us  the  first  notice  of  their  presence  by  calling  out  in  a 
loud  voice,  "Come  out,  men,  and  give  yourselves  up, 
you  will  not  be  hurt."  We  knew  by  that  call  that  a 
good  strong  force  was  outside  and  that  trouble  was  at 
hand.  We  hurriedly  lowered  the  window  shades  and 
blew  out  the  light  and  remained  perfectly  still.  The 
captain  called  again,  urging  that  we  would  be  treated 
as  prisoners  of  war  if  we  would  surrender.  We  knew 
too  well  the  value  of  such  a  promise  made  by  the  cap- 
tain of  a  self-appointed  gang  of  would-be  regulators, 
who  did  not  know  the  duty  of  captors  toward  their 
prisoners,  and  if  they  had  known  were  not  to  be 
trusted.  Besides  we  had  no  notion  of  surrendering  as 
long  as  our  ammunition  held  out. 

When  the  captain  found  we  were  not  to  be  coaxed 
out  by  his  false  and  flattering  promises,  he  began  to 
show  his  real  intentions.  He  said,  "Come  out!  G —  d — 
you,  we  have  got  you  now."  We  still  gave  no  answer. 


120  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

Then  he  said  if  we  did  not  come  out  he  would  burn 
the  house  down  over  our  heads.  When  that  failed 
he  called  on  us  to  send  the  women  and  children  out  so 
he  could  burn  the  house.  We  accommodated  him  that 
much  and  sent  them  out.  I  told  them  to  go  out  at  the 
front  door  and  to  be  sure  and  close  it  after  them.  When 
the  women  were  gone  we  opened  the  door  and  passed 
into  the  hall  and  then  to  the  back  or  south  door, 
Bridgeman  in  front.  He  opened  the  door  just  enough 
to  peep  out.  He  had  a  dragoon  pistol  in  his  right  hand 
and  a  Colt's  navy  in  his  left.  When  the  door  opened  a 
man  stepped  up  on  the  porch  with  his  bayonet  fixed 
and  told  Billy  to  come  on.  Billy  gave  him  an  ounce 
ball  and  he  fell  back  off  the  porch.  The  fight  was  then 
on  and  had  to  be  finished.  Just  after  Billy  fired  the  shot 
he  accidentally  dropped  his  navy  from  his  left  hand 
and  it  fell  behind  the  door  in  the  dark.  He  stooped  to 
feel  for  it  and  Brother  Isaac  asked,  "Billy  was  that 
you  shot?"  I  told  him  that  it  was.  He  then  said,  "we 
must  get  out  of  here  now."  With  that,  and  before  Billy 
found  his  gun,  I  jerked  the  door  wide  open  and  went 
out.  Brother  Isaac  followed  me,  Boyer  next  and  Billy 
last.  There  was  no  one  to  be  seen  but  the  dead  man 
by  the  side  of  the  porch.  The  others  had  taken  shelter 
behind  the  east  end  of  the  house  and  the  south  end  of 
the  ell.  I  went  south  along  the  ell  porch  and  Isaac  fol- 
lowed close  behind  me.  When  I  got  to  the  end  of  the 
porch  I  jumped  off  and  there  I  found  about  a  dozen 
men  lined  up.  They  fired  at  me  but  the  blaze  went 
over  my  head.  I  turned  my  face  to  them  and  took  a 
hand  myself.  By  that  time  Brother  Isaac  was  at  my 
side,  and,  although  unaccustomed  to  warfare,  he  did 
good  service.  We  opened  fire  and  they  turned  and 
ran.  We  followed  them  around  the  house  and  ran 
them  off  the  premises  and  out  into  the  public  road. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LEXINGTON  121 

When  Billy  found  his  navy  and  came  out,  he  saw 
men  at  the  east  end  of  the  house  firing  across  at  us 
from  the  rear  so  he  ran  down  the  porch  that  led  to  that 
end  of  the  house.  Just  as  he  reached  the  end  of  the 
porch  a  man  stepped  from  behind  the  house  and  raised 
his  gun  to  shoot  at  us.  Quick  as  a  flash  Billy  stuck  the 
end  of  his  navy  within  six  inches  of  the  man's  face 
and  shot  him  in  the  mouth.  The  man  dropped  down 
on  the  ground  and  bawled  like  a  steer.  At  this  the  men 
farther  around  in  the  chimney  corner  broke  and  ran 
and  Billy  followed.  They  did  not  stop  running  and 
Billy  did  not  stop  shooting  until  they  were  well  off  the 
premises. 

Boyer  who  was  the  third  man  out  of  the  house 
afterwards  related  his  experience  to  me.  He  jumped 
off  the  porch  and  ran  out  through  the  back  yard.  He 
stumbled  and  fell  over  a  bank  of  dirt  that  had  been 
thrown  out  of  a  well,  but  Brother  Isaac  and  I  were 
keeping  all  of  them  so  busy  that  no  one  seemed  to  no- 
tice him.  He  was  up  in  a  moment  and  going  again. 
When  he  got  to  the  rear  of  the  smoke  house  he  ran 
over  a  man  who  lay  hid  in  the  weeds.  The  fellow 
jumped  up  and  ran  and  Boyer  shot  at  him,  but  both 
kept  on  running.  Boyer  reached  a  corn  field  and  lay 
hid  the  remainder  of  the  night. 

After  the  fight  was  over  Billy,  Brother  Isaac  and 
I  went  down  into  the  woods  and  sat  for  a  long  time 
talking  it  over.  We  had  no  idea  how  many  men  were 
in  the  company,  but  were  confident  that  it  went  away 
somewhat  smaller  than  when  it  came.  They  got  our 
horses  and  saddles  and,  as  we  had  fired  all  the  loads 
out  of  our  pistols  in  the  fight,  we  had  nothing  but  the 
clothes  on  our  backs  and  our  empty  revolvers.  We 
didn't  dare  go  back  to  the  house,  so,  late  in  the  night, 
we  started  out  first  to  replenish  our  ammunition.  We 


122  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

stopped  at  Jack  Elder's,  a  mile  to  the  west.  He  gave  us 
powder  and  bullets,  but  he  had  no  caps.  We  then  went 
over  to  Judge  Pullins'  who  had  a  good  supply  and  fur- 
nished us  plenty  of  them.  After  loading  our  guns  we 
went  north  to  the  home  of  Joe  Evans.  Evans  was  a 
lieutenant  in  the  Southern  army,  and  his  wife,  who  was 
Nelly  Auxier,  was  at  home  with  her  children.  We  had 
known  her  from  childhood,  so  we  went  in  and  went  to 
bed.  Nelly  sat  up  the  remainder  of  the  night  and  kept 
watch.  This  was  the  first  sleep  in  nearly  forty-eight 
hours.  At  seven  she  woke  us  for  breakfast.  About  ten 
o'clock  Judge  Pullins,  who  knew  where  we  were, 
brought  over  the  morning  St.  Joe  paper.  It  contained 
a  long  account  of  the  fight,  and  said  that  Penick's  men 
had  gone  down  into  "the  hackle"  the  night  before  and 
killed  two  of  the  Gibson  boys  and  captured  the  remain- 
der of  the  "gang."  This  was  amusing  news,  and 
about  as  near  the  truth  as  most  reports  of  that  kind. 

Although  it  was  dangerous  for  us  to  travel  by 
daylight,  we  concluded  we  might,  with  proper  caution, 
get  back  over  the  ground  and  see  for  ourselves  what 
had  been  done.  We  kept  well  in  the  timber  and 
reached  Brother  James'  house  about  noon.  The  house 
was  considerably  scratched  up  by  bullets  and  blood 
was  strewn  all  around  it.  Four  men  had  been  killed  and 
five  wounded.  Harriet,  our  old  negro  woman,  told  us 
the  soldiers  had  first  stopped  at  father's  old  place  and 
inquired  for  us.  She  started  across  the  fields  at  once 
to  notify  us,  but  could  not  make  the  half  mile  on  foot 
in  time  and  had  reached  only  a  safe  distance  from  the 
house  when  the  fight  began. 

We  remained  in  the  neighborhood,  hidden  at  first 
one  place  and  then  another  for  several  days.  Brother 
Isaac,  being  rather  too  old  to  go  in  the  army  left  home 
and  went  to  Illinois  for  safety,  as  he  knew  there  would 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LEXINGTON  123 

be  no  peace  for  him  after  the  fight,  no  matter  how 
conservative  he  had  been  in  the  past  or  how  well  be- 
haved he  might  be  in  the  future.  The  unfortunate  cir- 
cumstance which,  on  account  of  his  association  with 
us,  had  compelled  him  to  fight  for  his  life,  had  ren- 
dered his  efforts  to  remain  at  home  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Billy  and  I,  having  lost  our  horses,  saddles  and 
blankets,  were  compelled  to  remain,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  soldiers  were  hunting  us  like  hounds,  until  we 
could  get  properly  equipped  to  leave.  We  were  not 
long  in  doing  this,  and  then  we  set  out  on  horseback 
through  a  country  patroled  by  many  soldiers  to  join 
our  company  at  Springfield. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
Back  to  the  South. 

We  left  in  the  afternoon,  and,  taking  byroads, 
passed  Stephen  Bedford's  and  went  on  to  Doc  Brown's 
on  Casteel  Creek.  We  spent  the  night  there.  Brown 
kept  us  up  until  midnight,  asking  questions  about  our 
experiences  at  Wilson's  Creek,  Fort  Scott  and  Lexing- 
ton and  about  the  fight  with  Penick's  men  at  Brother 
James'  house.  He  had  heard  the  firing  although  eight 
miles  away,  and  suspected  that  some  of  the  Gibson  boys 
were  in  the  fight.  We  started  early  next  morning  for 
Clay  County  where  my  sister,  Mrs.  Harrison  Wilson, 
lived.  We  reached  her  home  without  difficulty  and 
remained  there  over  night.  It  was  about  fifteen  miles 
from  her  home  to  the  Missouri  River  where  we  expect- 
ed to  have  trouble,  as  soldiers  were  on  guard  at  every 
crossing  point  between  St.  Joseph  and  the  Mississippi. 
If  we  could  not  find  a  ferry  unguarded  we  expected  to 
bind  cottonwood  logs  together,  get  on  them  and  swim 
our  horses  alongside.  This  was  disagreeable  and  very 
dangerous  and  was  not  to  be  thought  of  so  long  as  there 
was  any  chance  to  cross  on  a  ferry.  We  decided,  there- 
fore, to  go  to  old  Richfield  and  try  the  ferry  by  fair 
means  or  foul.  We  reached  the  high  bluff  that  over- 
looks the  town,  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
and  looked  cautiously  down.  The  soldiers  were 
camped  just  below  the  town  and  the  ferry  land- 
ing was  a  little  above  it.  Everything  was  quiet — 
no  soldiers  up  in  town  or  about  the  ferry  landing  that 
we  could  see.  While  we  were  watching,  the  ferry  boat 
crossed  to  this  side  and  landed.  We  rode  quietly  down 
the  hill  and  on  to  the  boat.  Billy  asked  the  ferryman 


BACK  TO  THE  SOUTH  125 

if  he  was  going  right  back.  He  said  no,  that  he  made 
regular  trips.  Billy  asked  how  long  before  he  would 
start.  He  said  thirty  minutes.  Billy  told  him  we  could 
not  wait  that  long,  and  that  he  must  go  back  imme- 
diately. The  ferryman  looked  up  into  Billy's  face  and 
said  he  would  wait  for  time.  In  an  instant  he  found 
himself  looking  into  the  muzzle  of  a  Colt's  navy. 
Billy  told  him  to  stand  perfectly  still  if  he  valued  his 
life.  I  jumped  off  my  horse  and  loosed  the  cable  that 
held  the  boat  to  shore.  The  current  carried  the  boat 
out  into  the  river  and  Billy  told  the  ferryman  to  take 
charge  and  set  us  over.  He  did  it  without  a  word  and 
we  rode  out  in  safety  on  the  other  shore.  In  all  that 
happened  on  the  boat,  not  a  loud  word  was  spoken, 
and,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  soldiers  did  not  even  suspect 
our  presence. 

When  we  rode  out  on  firm  land  on  the  southern 
side  of  the  Missouri  we  felt  much  safer,  because  the 
task  we  had  most  dreaded  was  over.  We  passed  about 
five  miles  into  the  country  and  put  up  for  the  night  at 
a  farm  house  where  we  found  seven  or  eight  southern 
men  all  on  their  way  to  the  Confederate  lines.  Two  of 
these  were  Confederate  soldiers  and  the  remainder 
were  old  men  leaving  home  for  safety.  The  two  sol- 
diers were  John  Culbertson  of  Buchanan  County  and 
Sol  Starks  of  Clay  County.  The  next  morning  about 
nine  o'clock,  as  we  rode  peacefully  along,  two  boys 
about  twelve  years  of  age  came  galloping  toward  us 
as  fast  as  their  horses  could  carry  them.  We  said  noth- 
ing to  them  and  they  said  nothing  to  us,  but  I  thought 
their  conduct  rather  strange.  In  a  few  minutes  they 
passed  back,  still  riding  very  fast.  Starks  and  I  were 
riding  in  front  and  I  told  him  I  thought  we  had  better 
stop  the  boys  and  ask  them  what  they  were  up  to.  We 
galloped  after  them  leaving  the  other  men  behind,  and 


126  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

when  we  had  overtaken  them  and  inquired  the  cause 
of  their  fast  riding,  they  told  us  there  was  a  gang  of 
"Jayhawkers"  in  the  neighborhood  and  they  (the  boys) 
were  hiding  their  horses.  While  we  were  talking  to 
the  boys  Starks  left  his  mule  standing  at  the  roadside 
and  stepped  aside.  I  also  alighted  from  my  horse. 
There  was  a  short  curve  in  the  road  just  in  front  of 
us  and  while  in  the  position  I  have  described,  Jenni- 
son's  regiment  came  dashing  around  the  curve  and 
right  down  upon  us.  Starks  left  his  mule  standing  in 
the  road  and  ran  for  his  life  out  through  the  timber.  I 
jumped  on  my  horse  and  took  the  same  course.  They 
soon  overtook  Starks  and  shot  and  killed  him.  A  band 
of  them  followed  me  shooting  and  calling  "halt,"  but  I 
only  went  the  faster.  I  had  gained  a  little  on  them  by 
the  time  I  came  to  a  rail  fence.  It  looked  like  they  had 
me,  but  I  had  no  idea  of  stopping.  I  threw  off  the  top 
rail  and  made  my  horse  jump  the  fence  into  a  corn- 
field. They  were  at  the  fence  in  a  moment  firing  and 
calling  halt.  I  threw  myself  down  on  my  horses's  side 
in  cowboy  fashion,  hanging  on  by  leg  and  arm  and 
sent  him  at  his  best  speed  down  between  two  rows  of 
corn.  I  soon  came  to  a  road  where  the  corn  gatherers 
had  been  hauling  out  the  corn,  and  finding  this  better 
traveling  and  thinking  it  might  lead  to  an  outlet  from 
the  field  I  took  it.  They  were  still  following  and  shoot- 
ing at  me.  The  fence  where  the  road  entered  the  field 
was  up,  but  I  had  passed  over  one  and  could  pass  an- 
other. I  held  a  tight  reign  and  forced  my  horse  to  take  it. 
He  knocked  off  the  top  rail,  but  landed  on  his  feet.  Out- 
side the  field  a  firm  road  led  down  a  long  slant  directly 
away  from  my  pursuers.  This  gave  me  an  advantage 
and  I  made  good  use  of  it.  The  soft  ground  of  the  corn- 
field checked  their  speed  and  the  fence  halted  them,  I 
think,  for  I  never  saw  them  any  more.  When  my 


BACK  TO  THE  SOUTH  127 

horse  reached  the  bottom  of  the  slant  and  struck  the 
level  ground,  the  change  of  the  surface  threw  him 
headlong.  I  went  sailing  in  the  air  over  beyond  him 
carrying  the  bridle  reins  with  me.  Although  terribly 
jolted  I  beat  the  horse  up  and  was  on  his  back  the  mo- 
ment he  could  stand.  I  took  no  time  to  throw  reins 
over  his  head,  but  with  the  rein  swinging  from  my 
hand  to  the  bit  I  pushed  him  into  the  brush  and  a  half 
mile  farther  on  before  stopping. 

My  poor  horse  was  almost  dead,  but  as  I  could 
hear  no  one  following  me  it  looked  like  he  had  car- 
ried me  to  safety.  I  looked  and  listened  intently  but 
could  neither  see  nor  hear  anyone.  I  got  off  my  horse 
that  he  might  get  a  better  rest,  as  I  did  not  know  how 
soon  he  might  have  to  run  again,  and  after  the  first 
few  breaths  of  freedom,  began  to  think  of  my  com- 
panions. As  the  main  body  of  the  regiment  kept  the 
traveled  road  and  only  a  detachment  followed  me,  it 
was  certain  that  Billy  and  Culbertson  and  the  old  men 
would  meet  them.  I  feared  for  the  result — especially 
to  the  old  men.  Billy  and  Culbertson  I  thought  could 
likely  take  care  of  themselves.  The  point  where  I  had 
stopped  was  at  the  head  of  a  long  ravine,  and  while 
standing  there  I  saw  a  man  approaching  on  horseback. 
I  watched  a  moment  and  discovered  that  it  was  Bridge- 
man.  We  were  rejoiced  to  see  each  other.  Billy  asked 
about  Starks  and  I  told  him  his  fate.  I  asked  how  his 
party  had  fared.  He  said  when  they  saw  the  soldiers 
coming  he  and  Culbertson  were  in  front.  They  fired 
at  the  soldiers  and  took  to  the  brush.  He  had  seen  none 
of  his  companions  since.  By  chance  Billy  had  taken 
the  same  general  direction  that  I  had  gone  and  that  is 
how  we  happened  to  meet.  We  thought  it  almost  provi- 
dential. 


128  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

I  heard  afterwards,  but  I  cannot  say  as  to  the 
truth  of  the  report,  that  the  old  gray  haired  men  who 
were  with  us  were  all  captured  and  killed.  Whatever 
may  have  been  their  fate,  we  could  do  nothing  for 
them  against  a  regiment  and  counted  ourselves  more 
lucky  than  wise  that  we  escaped  with  our  own  lives. 

Billy  and  I  remained  in  seclusion  most  of  the  day 
and  then,  hearing  nothing  of  Culbertson  and  the  old 
men,  started  on  our  journey.  We  rode  leisurely 
along  and  reached  Springfield  without  further  diffi- 
culty. There  we  found  Culbertson,  waiting  and  look- 
ing for  us.  He  was  sly  as  a  red  fox  and  as  hard  to 
catch.  He  had  gotten  away  from  Jennison  and  had 
made  better  time  to  Springfield  than  we,  and,  as  he 
knew  our  destination,  waited  our  coming  as  proof 
that  we  had  not  been  caught. 

General  Price  was  in  winter  quarters.  We  re- 
mained with  our  company  a  few  weeks,  and  just  before 
Christmas  Billy  and  Jim  Combs,  his  brother-in-law, 
and  I  got  permission  to  spend  the  holidays  at  Granby 
with  Jeff  Whitney,  Comb's  step-father,  who  had  for- 
merly lived  in  Holt  County.  While  on  this  visit  Whitney, 
who  was  a  man  of  considerable  wealth,  concluded  he 
would  move  farther  south  in  order  to  secure  better 
protection  for  his  family  and  property,  and  asked  us  to 
accompany  him  across  the  mountains  as  a  guard.  We 
consented  to  do  it  and  made  the  trip  with  him  over 
land  to  Fort  Smith,  where  Whitney,  after  going  just 
acrdss  the  Arkansas  line,  erected  a  cabin  in  the  Chero- 
kee Nation.  We  remained  with  him  about  a  week  as- 
sisting him  to  get  settled,  when  we  got  a  letter  from 
Colonel  Gates  informing  us  that  a  strong  army  was  ap- 
proaching from  St.  Louis  and  calling  us  back  to  our 
places  in  his  company. 


BACK  TO  THE  SOUTH  129 

We  set  out  for  Springfield  immediately  and  met 
our  army  as  it  retreated  to  join  Van  Dorn  at  Fayette- 
ville.  I  shall  always  remember  our  meeting  with  this 
army.  The  ox  teams  were  in  front,  four  yoke  to  each 
wagon,  a  long  string  of  them,  winding  slowly  down 
the  road.  Then  the  mule  teams,  six  mules  to  each 
wagon,  many  of  them  the  same  mules  we  had  captured 
at  Fort  Scott.  Next  a  regiment  of  soldiers,  then  Gen- 
eral Price  and  his  body  guard,  then  the  main  body  of 
the  army  with  Gates  in  the  rear.  The  pursuing  army 
was  making  forced  marches  in  an  effort  to  bring  on  a 
general  engagement  before  Price  united  his  forces  with 
Van  Dorn.  We  had  hardly  joined  our  company,  when 
the  enemy,  seeing  that  another  day's  march  would 
place  Price  very  close  to  Van  Dorn,  sent  two  regiments 
of  cavalry  to  attack  our  rear.  The  first  regiment  came 
dashing  upon  us  without  warning,  yelling  and  shooting. 
Gates  ordered  his  men  to  dismount  and  take  to  the 
brush.  They  obeyed  in  an  instant,  leaving  their  horses 
in  the  road.  The  horses,  frightened  by  the  attack  from 
the  rear,  stampeded  and  dashed  forward  upon  the  in- 
fantry. The  attacking  regiment  followed,  and  before 
they  realized  their  peril  were  far  in  between  two  lines 
of  hidden  Confederates  who,  protected  by  the  brush, 
piled  horses  and  soldiers  thick  along  the  road.  There 
were  but  few  left  to  tell  the  tale.  The  second  regi- 
ment on  discovering  the  situation  of  the  first,  failed  to 
follow.  Price,  on  discovering  that  the  attack  had 
been  made  sent  a  regiment  of  infantry  back  to  support 
us,  but  when  it  arrived  the  work  had  been  done.  We 
came  out  of  the  brush  and  followed  the  infantry,  still 
protecting  the  rear  until  our  horses  were  sent  back. 


130  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

That  was  the  last  day  of  the  retreat.  Price  took  a 
stand  at  Cross  Hollow  where  Van  Dorn  joined  him. 
The  Union  army  stopped  at  Pea  Ridge.  Both  armies 
rested  three  days.  On  the  night  of  the  third  day  Price 
broke  camp  and  traveled  all  night.  By  daylight  he  was 
in  the  road  behind  the  enemy,  and  at  sun  up  moved 
south  toward  their  camp.  We  had  not  gone  far  when 
we  met  fifteen  or  twenty  government  teams  going  on 
a  forage.  They  were  greatly  surprised,  but  grinned  and 
said  nothing.  Price  put  a  guard  over  them  and  moved 
on.  When  he  got  in  position  on  the  rear  he  fired  a 
cannon  as  a  signal  to  Van  Dorn  that  all  was  ready. 
The  engagement  soon  opened  front  and  rear.  Price  was 
successful  on  his  side,  but  Van  Dorn  was  defeated.  In 
less  than  an  hour  not  a  gun  could  be  heard  along  the 
whole  south  side  of  the  army.  The  whole  force  then 
turned  upon  Price  and  he  was  compelled  to  retreat. 
He  went  north  until  he  came  to  a  road  leading  across 
the  mountains  to  White  River.  The  Union  forces  did 
not  follow  and  the  retreat  was  made  with  little  diffi- 
culty. We  had  no  baggage  except  the  artillery  and 
the  teams  captured  early  in  the  morning.  The  roads, 
hqwever,  were  very  rough  and  our  progress  was  very 
slow.  On  the  following  morning  while  we  were  toiling 
over  the  mountains,  General  Price  rode  by  with  his 
arm  in  a  sling.  The  boys  cheered  him  until  the  moun- 
tains resounded  for  miles.  In  a  few  days  we  were  be- 
yond danger  of  pursuit  and  made  our  way  in  safety  to 
Fort  Smith. 

From  Fort  Smith  Price  was  ordered  to  Memphis. 
He  started  at  once  over  land  to  Des  Arc  on  White 
River.  From  there  we  went  to  Memphis  by  boat.  After 


BACK  TO  THE  SOUTH  131 

a  short  stay  in  Memphis,  Brother  James,  who  had  re- 
turned from  California  and  joined  the  army,  was  sent 
back  to  Missouri  as  a  recruiting  officer.  Billy  Bridge- 
man  and  I  got  leave  to  accompany  him  and  we  all  came 
together  back  as  far  as  Des  Arc.  There  Billy  decided 
to  return  to  Memphis  and  go  on  with  Price,  while 
Brother  James  and  I  came  home  on  horse  back.  This  is 
the  last  time  I  ever  saw  Bridgeman. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
Home  for  Recruits. 

I  do  not  recall  the  incidents  of  the  trip  home.  I  do 
not  remember  the  road  or  how  we  crossed  the  river  or 
anything  about  it,  though  I  have  tried  very  hard  to 
recall  them.  I  only  know  that  we  went  from  Des 
Arc  to  Dover,  Arkansas,  and  that  somewhere  on  the 
road  Henry  Gibson  and  Harold  Shultz  joined  us  and 
that  we  all  reached  home  together.  Henry  Gibson  is 
dead.  Schultz  is  insane  and  confined  at  State  Hospital 
No.  2  at  St.  Joseph,  and  Brother  James  is  in  Idaho,  so 
I  have  no  way  of  refreshing  my  memory,  and  as  the 
trip,  although  it  covered  nearly  four  hundred  miles, 
was  made  forty-eight  years  ago,  my  foot  steps  have 
grown  cold.  It  is  more  than  probable  that  a  single 
hint  would  rescue  the  entire  journey  and  its  incidents. 

I  recall  events  after  we  reached  home  with  per- 
fect distinctness.  We  remained  out  in  the  brush  most 
of  the  time.  Brother  James,  at  such  times  as  he  could, 
met  all  those  who  wanted  to  join  the  army.  Be- 
sides the  boys  on  the  east  side  of  Platte  River,  he  en- 
listed John  and  Wash  Lynch,  two  of  the  Greenwood 
boys,  Jack  Smedley,  Jim  Reeves,  William  and  John 
Reynolds  and  Richard  Miller  from  the  west  side.  In  all 
there  were  some  twenty-five  or  thirty.  We  secured  a 
tent  and  pitched  it  in  a  secret  place  in  what  was  then 
and  now  sometimes  called  "the  hackle,"  about  a  mile 
east  of  Garrettsburg.  We  had  scant  provisions,  some 
flour,  sugar,  coffee  and  bacon  which  we  kept  hang- 
ing in  a  tree.  During  the  day  we  managed  to  partly 
satisfy  our  hunger  on  this  diet,  but  at  night  we  went  out 
to  see  the  girls  and  get  good  meals.  In  spite  of  the  con- 


HOME  FOR  RECRUITS  133 

stant  fear  of  discovery,  we  had  a  good  time.  Dur- 
ing all  this  time  the  boys  were  collecting  guns  and  am- 
munition. These  they  got  wherever  they  could.  Most 
often  from  friends  who  gave  or  loaned  them,  but  some- 
times from  a  straggling  soldier  or  militia  man  who 
was  caught  away  from  camp. 

Everything  was  ready  and  the  night  fixed  for  our 
departure.  Doc.  Watson  had  informed  us  that  there 
was  a  company  of  militia  camped  in  his  yard  about 
three  miles  distant  from  our  camp,  cooking,  eating  and 
sleeping  on  his  blue  grass.  Our  plan  was  to  march  up 
near  them  during  the  night  and  wake  them  at  day- 
break and  bid  them  goodby.  During  the  entire  time  our 
camp  remained  there,  we  took  no  pains  to  conceal  it 
from  the  negroes,  for  the  most  of  them — and  we  thought 
all — could  be  trusted  as  far  as  our  white  friends.  We 
made  a  mistake  in  one  of  them.  He  turned  traitor  and 
told  the  company  at  Doc  Watson's  that  about  two  hun- 
dred "bush-whackers"  were  camped  in  the  Hackle. 
They  informed  the  authorities  at  St.  Joe  and  the  night 
before  we  proposed  to  execute  our  plans  they  marched 
two  regiments — one  infantry  and  one  cavalry — down 
close  to  our  camp  and  next  morning  surprised  us  by 
calling  about  sun  up.  It  was  clear  they  had  a  guide 
for  they  followed  the  trail  through  the  thick  woods 
directly  to  the  tent. 

The  tent  was  stretched  in  a  little  valley  and  over 
beyond  a  deep  gulch,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  ap- 
proach nearer  than  fifty  yards  of  it  on  horseback. 
This  was  too  close  to  be  comfortable  to  the  eight  men 
who  were  in  it  sound  asleep.  Without  a  moment's 
warning  they  fired  into  it.  The  aim  was  high  and  not 
a  man  was  hit.  They  jumped  and  ran  for  their  lives 
and  all  escaped.  It  was  our  good  fortune  that  more  of 
the  boys  were  not  in  the  tent.  As  it  was  to  be  the  last 


134  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

night  at  home,  most  of  the  boys  had  gone  to  bid  their 
friends  goodby  and  had  remained  with  them  for  the 
night.  Brother  James  and  I  had  gone  home  with 
Charley  Pullms,  who  had  joined  our  company,  and,  in 
place  of  returning  to  the  tent,  we  all  took  our  blankets 
and  slept  in  his  rye  field. 

Early  next  morning  we  were  awakened  by  the 
barking  of  PuJlii.s'  dog.  We  jumped  up  and  looked 
and  listened.  A  regiment  of  infantry  was  passing  along 
the  road.  They  had  a  six  gun  battery  with  them  and  I 
could  not  mistake  the  creaking  of  the  old  truck-wheels. 
We  picked  up  our  blankets  and  ran  to  the  house  and 
threw  them  in  at  the  back  window,  and  then  stepped 
around  in  front  to  watch  them  go  by,  some  two  hun- 
dred yards  distant.  We  had  no  idea  they  were  after 
us  with  all  this  equipment,  but  supposed  they  were 
simply  marching  from  Easton  to  St.  Joe  and  had  prob- 
ably missed  the  road.  We  knew  nothing  of  the  attack 
upon  the  tent,  nor  did  we  know  that  at  that  moment 
the  cavalry  regiment  had  divided  into  squads  and  was 
galloping  from  house  to  house  all  over  the  neighbor- 
hood, looking  for  the  Gibson  boys. 

While  we  stood  watching  the  procession  pass  we 
heard  a  rumbling  noise  behind  us,  and  back  of  the 
house.  I  turned  and  saw  the  cavalry  coming  under 
lash.  We  ran  for  the  front  gate  which  led  away  from 
the  infantry  that  was  passing.  A  few  rods  beyond  the 
gate  lay  a  heavy  body  of  timber  and  we  made  for  it. 
As  I  went  out  I  passed  my  fine  saddle  mare  graz- 
ing in  the  yard,  and  I  threw  the  yard  gate 
wide  open.  By  this  time  the  soldiers  had  galloped 
around  both  sides  of  the  house  and  commenced  firing 
at  us.  At  the  first  shot  my  mare  threw  up  her  head 
and  tail  and  made  for  the  gate.  She  was  safe  in  the 
timber  almost  as  soon  as  we  were.  When  we  reached 


HOME  FOR  RECRUITS  135 

the  timber  bullets  were  flying  after  us  pretty  thick,  but 
1  stopped  and  threw  my  double  barrel  shot  gun  to  my 
shoulder.  Brother  James  called  to  me  to  save  my 
loads,  but  as  we  each  had  two  six  shooters  and  a  double 
barrel  shot  gun,  I  thought  I  could  spare  one  load  so  I 
gave  it  to  them.  They,  like  all  soldiers  at  that  time, 
were  dreadfully  afraid  of  the  brush,  and,  whether  it 
was  my  shot  or  the  fact  that  we  had  reached  the  timber, 
they  stopped  firing  and  started  around  to  the  farther 
side  of  the  woods.  I  lost  sight  of  Pullins  and  James, 
and  when  I  saw  the  soldiers  start  around  the  timber  I 
ran  back  towards  the  house  and  into  a  cornfield  on  the 
opposite  side.  When  I  reached  the  fence  at  the  farther 
side  of  the  cornfield,  I  ran  directly  upon  two  of  the  in- 
fantry soldiers  who  had  apparently  become  lost  from 
the  regiment.  They  were  as  much,  if  not  more  sur- 
prised than  I  was,  for  I  had  presence  of  mind  enough  to 
use  the  remaining  load  in  my  shot  gun  and  they  tore 
through  the  brush  like  wild  deer. 

I  went  up  to  the  tent  expecting  to  find  the  boys 
there.  Instead,  I  found  the  tent  riddled  with  bullets 
and  several  old  guns  which  the  soldiers  had  destroyed 
by  hammering  the  barrels  around  a  tree.  I  was,  of 
course,  greatly  surprised,  but  after  looking  over  the  sit- 
uation I  was  gratified  at  finding  no  evidence  that  any 
of  our  men  had  been  killed.  I  learned  afterwards  that 
but  one  man  had  been  killed  in  the  whole  raid.  That 
man  was  George  Reynolds.  After  the  attack  upon  the 
tent  the  soldiers  rode  over  to  Reynold's  house  and 
found  him,  an  old  gray  haired  man,  carrying  a  basket 
of  corn  to  his  hogs.  They  shot  him  where  he  stood 
and  rode  off  and  left  him  for  the  women  of  his  family 
to  bury,  as  the  men  in  the  community  didn't  dare  come 


136  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

out  of  the  brush  to  their  assistance.  One  man,  Rich 
Miller,  who  knew  of  his  death,  ventured  out  and  helped 
bury  him. 

The  raid  scattered  our  little  band  of  volunteers 
and  all  hope  of  gathering  them  together  was  aban- 
doned. On  the  evening  after  the  raid  my  saddle  mare 
— the  one  I  had  let  out  through  the  gate  at  Pullins', 
after  remaining  in  the  woods  all  day,  came  up  to  the 
gate  at  the  old  home,  as  though  she  knew — and  I  be- 
lieve she  did — that  it  was  not  safe  for  her  to  be  seen 
on  the  road  in  daylight.  During  the  night  that  fol- 
lowed I  located  Brother  James  and  he,  Pullins  and  I  de- 
cided to  go  back  into  the  Confederate  lines.  Within  a 
day  or  two  we  left  expecting,  as  upon  our  preceding 
trip,  to  cross  the  river  at  Richfield.  We  passed  through 
old  Haynesville  on  the  line  between  Clinton  and  Clay 
Counties,  which  was  then  a  thriving  village,  but  which 
I  am  told  is  now  abandoned  as  a  town,  and  then  on 
directly  toward  the  river.  There  was  considerable 
Union  sentiment  about  Haynesville  and  some  one  there 
must  have  suspected  our  purpose  and  informed  a  com- 
pany of  militia  that  happened  to  be  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. We  rode  leisurely  along,  not  suspecting  that  we 
were  being  followed,  and,  when  we  reached  the  home 
of  Reuben  J.  Eastin,  some  six  miles  south  of  Haynes- 
ville, stopped  for  dinner.  Eastin  was  related  to 
Pullins  and  the  family  were  all  glad  to  see  us,  and  in- 
vited us  into  the  house  and  the  old  gentleman  directed 
his  son  to  take  our  horses  to  the  barn  and  feed  them. 
I  told  him  we  had  better  go  to  the  brush  and  feed  our 
horses  and  have  our  meals  sent  to  us.  He  said  there 
was  no  danger  as  there  were  no  soldiers  in  the  com- 
munity. 

We  all  pulled  off  our  belts  and  threw  them,  with 
the  navies  in  them  on  a  bed  and  prepared  for  dinner. 


HOME  FOR  RECRUITS  137 

As  I  stepped  across  the  room  to  a  looking  glass  to  comb 
my  hair,  I  glanced  out  the  door  and  saw  a  company 
of  militia  coming  up  the  road  from  the  north  under 
whip.  Brother  and  I  sprang  for  our  navies  and 
buckled  them  around  us  and  ran  out  at  the  back  door 
and  into  a  corn  field,  which  was  on  the  south  side  of 
the  house.  Pullins,  who  was  not  accustomed  to  war- 
fare, was  so  frightened  that  he  forgot  his  guns.  It  was 
August  and  the  weather  was  very  hot.  We  ran  down 
between  two  rows  of  corn  as  fast  as  we  could,  Pullins 
in  front,  Brother  James  behind  him  and  I  in  the  rear. 
I  got  hot  and  called  to  them  not  to  run  so  fast,  but  they 
did  not  hear  me  and  kept  going.  I  stopped  and  sat 
down.  I  could  then  hear  the  horses  galloping  around 
to  the  farther  or  south  side  of  the  field,  so  I  turned  and 
ran  east  toward  the  main  road  which  ran  in  front  of 
the  house,  and  along  the  east  side  of  the  field.  When  I 
got  to  the  fence  I  looked  both  directions  and  saw  no 
soldiers.  They  had  evidently  anticipated  that  we 
would  all  make  for  the  heavy  timber  which  lay  south 
and  west  of  the  field,  and  had  undertaken  to  head  us 
off  in  that  direction.  There  was  a  woods  pasture  just 
across  the  road,  with  only  large  trees  in  it,  but  I  saw 
beyond  the  timber  a  thicket  which  seemed  to  skirt  a 
draw  or  gully  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  cross  the  road 
and  take  my  chances.  I  remember  thinking  that  if  I 
should  be  discovered  while  crossing  the  open  pasture 
there  would  probably  be  no  more  than  four  or  five  men 
in  the  squad  and  that  I  could  get  behind  a  big  tree  and 
wait  until  they  came  close  to  me,  when  with  my  skill 
in  the  use  of  the  navy,  I  could  protect  myself  against 
them.  I  jumped  over  the  fence  and  made  good  speed, 
taking  no  time  to  look  back,  until  I  reached  the  thicket. 
Not  a  man  of  them  saw  me.  They  had  left  a  gap  open, 
and  I  was  out  of  the  trap.  I  followed  the  brushy  ra- 


138  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

vine  some  distance  and  came  to  another  cornfield.  In 
passing  through  this  field  I  came  upon  a  water  melon 
patch,  completely  surrounded  by  the  corn.  I  decided 
this  would  be  a  good  place  to  stop  and  wait  for  de- 
velopments. I  took  a  big  ripe  melon  out  into  the  corn 
and  proceeded  to  supply  as  much  as  possible  the  din- 
ner the  soldiers  had  caused  me  to  lose.  I  knew  I  was 
safe,  but  I  was  not  so  sure  about  my  companions.  In  a 
few  minutes  I  heard  two  pistol  shots.  They  were  from 
Brother  James'  navy.  I  had  heard  the  report  too  many 
times  to  be  mistaken.  This  assured  me  that  he  had 
not  at  that  moment  been  captured.  In  about  five  min- 
utes I  heard  two  musket  shots,  and  this  alarmed  me. 
I  felt  perfectly  sure  if  they  had  fired  at  Brother  James 
they  had  not  harmed  him  and  he  had  escaped  without 
returning  the  fire,  but  I  could  not  be  so  sure  about  Pul- 
lins  as  I  knew  he  had  no  weapons  with  him.  No  fur- 
ther shots  were  fired. 

I  remained  in  the  corn  field  until  nearly  night  and 
then  started  for  the  home  of  my  sister,  Mrs.  Wilson, 
who  lived  about  three  miles  north  and  east.  I  reached 
her  house  about  nine  o'clock  at  night,  but  did  not  go  in. 
She  brought  food  to  me  in  the  timber  near  by  and  re- 
mained with  me  waiting  and  watching  for  Brother 
James  and  Pullins.  We  were  both  very  uneasy  and 
greatly  feared  they  had  been  captured.  We  knew  either 
or  both  of  them,  if  alive  and  not  captured,  would  come 
to  her  house  to  find  me  before  attempting  to  go  on  to  the 
south.  About  midnight  Brother  James  came  in.  He 
knew  nothing  of  Pullins.  We  watched  for  him  all  night 
but  he  never  came.  Next  morning  Mrs.  Wilson  saddled 
her  horse  and  rode  over  to  Eastin's  to  see  if  she  could 
hear  of  him.  When  she  returned  she  told  us  they  had 
captured  Pullins  and  taken  him  to  Liberty.  The  last 
word  Pullins'  young  wife  had  said  to  me  as  we  left 


HOME  FOR  RECRUITS  139 

home,  was,  "Take  good  care  of  Charley."  There  was 
little  that  could  be  done  for  him  now,  but  in  the  hope 
that  we  might  be  able  to  do  something,  or  that,  as  he 
was  a  perfectly  innocent  boy,  making  his  way  south  for 
safety,  he  would  be  paroled  and  released  and  allowed 
to  return  to  his  home.  We  remained  in  the  brush  a 
week  waiting  for  him.  During  this  time  Brother  James 
gave  me  a  full  account  of  his  escape. 

He  said  when  he  and  Pullins  reached  the  south 
side  of  the  corn  field  they  could  hear  the  horses  com- 
ing and  decided  it  would  not  be  safe  to  attempt  to  get 
out  into  the  timber,  so  they  put  back  into  the  field  and 
became  separated.  In  a  short  time  men  were  all 
around  the  field  and  in  the  field  riding  through  the 
tall  corn.  When  James  discovered  that  men  were  in 
the  field  he  crouched  down  beneath  a  bush  and  re- 
mained perfectly  quiet  in  order  that  he  might  hear  the 
approach  of  the  horses  through  the  rattling  corn.  He 
had  remained  in  this  position  but  a  short  time  when  he 
saw  a  single  horseman  coming  toward  him.  He  drew 
his  navy  and  lay  still.  When  the  man  got  very  close  he 
arose  and  shot  him  in  the  leg.  He  then  shot  his  horse 
and  ran.  He  could  easily  have  killed  the  man,  but  did 
not  want  to  do  it.  At  the  sound  of  these  guns  all  the 
pursuers  started  in  the  direction  of  the  supposed  fight. 
James  heard  them  coming  and  decided  to  go  back  to- 
ward the  house  in  the  hope  of  finding  it  unguarded. 
In  that  case  he  would  secure  his  horse.  When  he  got 
to  the  fence  near  the  barn  he  set  his  foot  upon  a  rail 
and  raised  his  body  to  look.  At  that  moment  he  saw 
two  soldiers  on  guard  and  they  saw  him.  They  raised 
their  guns  to  fire,  but  James  threw  up  his  hands  and 
said,  "Don't  shoot."  They  thought  he  had  surrendered 
and  dropped  their  guns.  In  the  twinkle  of  an  eye 
he  fell  back  off  of  the  fence  and  put  back  into  the 


140  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

heavy  corn.  The  soldiers  both  fired  at  him  but 
he  had  the  fence  as  a  shield  and  their  shots  were  harm- 
less. The  guards  then  yelled,  "Here  he  is,"  and  the  re- 
mainder of  the  soldiers  in  the  field  and  out  supposing 
the  musket  shots  had  killed  one  or  more  of  us,  all  gal- 
loped for  the  barn.  James  heard  them  going  from  all 
directions  and  kept  close  watch  that  none  who  were  in 
the  field  might  come  near  enough  to  see  him.  When 
they  were  all  well  on  toward  the  barn  he  made  quick 
time  back  through  the  field  and  into  the  woods  be- 
yond. He  had  not  gone  far  in  the  timber  when  he 
heard  them  coming  again,  and,  as  he  was  almost  worn 
out  and  feared  he  would  not  be  able  to  get  out  of  reach 
of  them  he  climbed  a  tree  that  had  thick  foliage  upon 
it  and  remained  there  the  whole  afternoon.  He  could 
hear  the  soldiers  riding  around  the  field  and  through 
the  corn  and  in  the  timber  near  him.  When  night  came 
they  gave  up  the  search,  and  James  climbed  down  and 
made  his  way  to  Mrs.  Wilson's. 

By  the  end  of  a  week  we  had  the  full  story  of  Pul- 
lins'  fate.  They  had  taken  him  to  Liberty  and  there 
pretended  to  try  him,  found  him  guilty,  but  of  what 
crime  no  record  will  ever  show  and  no  man  will  ever 
know,  sent  him  back  to  old  man  Eastin's,  where  he 
was  shot  by  twelve  men.  They  then  plundered  Eastin's 
house,  took  his  horses,  harness  and  wagons,  bedding 
and  table  ware,  provisions  and  everything  movable 
and  moved  him,  a  blind  and  helpless  cripple,  out 
of  his  house  and  under  the  trees  of  his  orchard,  set  fire 
to  his  house  and  burned  it  to  the  ground. 

We  could  do  nothing  but  go  on,  so  with  sad  hearts 
and  without  horses  or  blankets,  with  nothing  but  our 
trusted  navies  and  plenty  of  ammunition,  we  skulked 
our  way  to  old  Richfield  again,  some  fifteen  miles  from 
Mrs.  Wilson's.  We  reached  the  river  just  about  dark 


HOME  FOR  RECRUITS  141 

and  lay  in  the  bluffs  all  night,  without  food  or  shelter. 
Early  in  the  morning  we  ventured  down  to  a  house  and 
asked  for  breakfast.  We  knew  by  the  way  we  were 
received  that  he  was  a  southern  man,  but  we  were  too 
cautious  to  make  our  wishes  known  at  once.  By  the 
time  breakfast  was  over  we  decided  we  could  trust 
him,  so  we  asked  him  if  he  knew  of  any  way  we  could 
get  across  the  river.  He  told  us  there  was  a  man  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river  who  had  a  skiff  and  made  a 
business  of  setting  southern  men  across,  but  he  was 
very  cautious  and  would  not  come  to  this  side  except 
upon  a  signal.  We  then  asked  him  if  he  would  assist 
us  and  he  said  he  would,  but  we  must  be  very  careful 
to  evade  the  northern  soldiers  on  guard  and  not  let 
them  see  him  as  if  they  suspected  him  they  would 
probably  kill  him  and  burn  his  home.  We  assured  him 
that  we  were  discreet,  so  he  went  with  us.  He  took  us  a 
short  distance  above  Richfield  and  into  a  timbered  bot- 
tom, and  when  we  got  to  the  road  which  paralleled  the 
river  he  told  us  to  stop  and  wait  for  him.  He  passed 
across  the  road  and  out  into  the  willows  that  grew  be- 
tween the  road  and  the  water.  While  we  stood  wait- 
ing a  man  and  woman  approached  through  the  tim- 
ber from  the  west  singing  Dixie  at  the  top  of  their 
voices.  We  knew  this  was  a  ruse  to  deceive  just  such 
men  as  ourselves.  Federal  soldiers  were  so  near  that 
no  sincere  southern  person  would  sing  Dixie  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  within  their  hearing.  We  ran  back  into 
the  timber  and  lay  down  behind  a  log.  The  couple 
passed,  still  singing,  and  went  on  toward  the  town.  In  a 
few  minutes  our  man  came  back.  We  left  our  hiding 
place  and  followed  him  to  the  river.  The  man  was 
there  with  his  boat  waiting  for  us.  We  jumped  in.  Our 
friend  shoved  the  boat  from  shore  and  put  back  into 
the  willows.  Our  boatman  told  us  that  soldiers  both 


142  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

above  and  below  the  town  had  been  trying  to  get  him  to 
come  across  all  morning,  but  they  did  not  know  his  sig- 
nal and  he  would  not  come. 

Our  man  in  crossing  towards  us  had  taken  a  course 
which  kept  his  boat  out  of  view,  and  as  he  went  back 
he  kept  behind  an  island  until  well  toward  his  own 
shore  and  out  of  range.  As  the  boat  passed  out  from 
behind  the  island  they  discovered  us  and  commenced 
shooting,  but  we  were  too  far  away  to  fear  their  bul- 
lets. 

We  landed  safely  and  then,  having  passed  over 
what  was  considered  our  greatest  difficulty,  began  to 
think  about  other  troubles  still  ahead.  Independence 
was  full  of  Federal  soldiers.  Lone  Jack  and  Pleasant 
Hill  were  no  better.  Roving  bands  of  foragers  and 
scouts  kept  the  country  between  closely  patroled.  We 
had  but  one  hope  and  that  was  that  we  might  chance  to 
fall  in  with  Quantrell  on  one  of  his  raids.  William  Hill, 
a  cousin  of  ours,  lived  near  Pleasant  Hill,  and  if  we 
could  reach  him,  we  felt  sure  he  could  tell  us  when 
Quantrell  might  be  expected  in  that  locality.  We  left 
the  river  and  walked  cautiously  through  timber  and 
fields,  stopping  at  farm  houses  for  food  only  after 
night,  sleeping  on  the  ground  without  blankets  and 
finally  reached  Hill's  place.  He  was  at  heart  a  strong 
southern  man,  but  had  managed  to  deceive  the  Union 
soldiers  and  his  Union  neighbors.  We  asked  about 
Quantrell.  He  informed  us  that  some  of  his  neighbors 
belonged  to  Quantrell's  band,  and  that  Quantrell  was  at 
that  time  in  camp  about  three  miles  away.  We  did  not 
know  Quantrell  nor  any  of  his  men  and  asked  Hill  to 
go  with  us  to  the  camp.  He  objected.  Said  that  he  had 
acted  the  part  of  a  northern  man  so  completely  that 
Quantrell  had  threatened  him,  believing  him  to  be  in 
earnest.  We  told  him  if  he  went  with  us  he  would  have 


HOME  FOR  RECRUITS  143 

nothing  to  fear.  He  seemed  not  to  understand  how  this 
could  be  if  we  knew  neither  Quantrell  nor  his  men. 
We  then  explained  that  Jesse  and  Frank  James  were 
with  Quantrell  and  that  they  lived  in  Clay  County 
near  the  home  of  our  sister,  and  were  well  acquainted 
with  us  by  reputation. 

Hill  finally  consented  and  saddled  horses  for  all 
and  took  us  to  the  camp.  He  introduced  us  to  Quan- 
trell and  then  in  turn  we  met  Frank  and  Jesse  James, 
Cole  Younger  and  his  brothers  and  other  leaders  of 
the  company.  We  explained  Hill's  relation  to  us;  that 
we  had  known  him  from  his  birth  in  Tennessee  and 
that  he  was  with  us  at  heart.  They  told  him  to  go 
home  and  fear  nothing  from  them.  Hill  took  his  horses 
and  left  well  satisfied. 

The  whole  company  remained  in  camp  some  days, 
and  during  the  time  one  of  Hill's  neighbors  gave 
Brother  James  a  fine  mare,  bridle  and  saddle.  I  have 
always  thought  that  Hill  furnished  the  money  for  this 
equipment  and  gave  it  in  the  name  of  a  trusted  neigh- 
bor. It  was  not  long  until  a  fine  outfit  was  presented 
to  me.  I  took  it  and  said  nothing.  I  liked  the  horse, 
but  did  not  like  the  saddle.  It  was  an  old  dragoon 
government  saddle  with  brass  mounted  horns  both  be- 
fore and  behind. 

About  this  time  a  detachment  of  Shelby's  men 
came  north  on  a  scout.  Quantrell  joined  them  and  at- 
tacked Pleasant  Hill  and  drove  the  Union  forces  to 
Lone  Jack.  He  followed  and  defeated  them  at  Lone 
Jack  and  drove  them  out  of  that  section  of  the  country. 

We  returned  to  Pleasant  Hill  and  were  received 
with  great  cordiality  by  the  people.  The  women  baked 
cakes  and  pies  and  sent  them  into  camp,  which 
were  fully  appreciated.  At  the  pay  office  which 
had  been  maintained  by  the  Federal  officers  we  found 


144  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

large  quantities  of  greenbacks  of  small  denominations 
lying  on  desks  and  tables  and  scattered  upon  the  floor. 
It  was  counted  of  little  value  at  that  time  and  in  that 
community.  One  dollar  of  Confederate  money  was 
worth  five  of  the  governments'  greenbacks. 

After  a  rest,  the  scouting  parties  that  had  joined 
Quantrell  in  the  attack  upon  Pleasant  Hill  and  Lone 
Jack,  started  south.  Quantrell  traveled  with  us  about 
three  days,  and  I  seriously  contemplated  joining  that 
band  and  remaining  in  Missouri.  I  mentioned  the  mat- 
ter to  Brother  James  and  he  discouraged  the  idea.  He 
said  winter  was  coming  on  and  the  camp  equipment 
was  inadequate,  besides  he  preferred  that  I  should  go 
into  the  regular  service.  I  took  his  advice,  and  have 
since  had  many  reasons  to  be  thankful  to  him  for  it. 
We  finally  reached  a  place  in  Arkansas  called  Horse- 
head,  where  winter  quarters  had  been  established.  At 
that  time  I  did  not  belong  to  the  army,  as  my  term  of 
enlistment  had  expired,  but  at  Horsehead  I  enlisted 
for  three  years,  or  during  the  war.  My  horse,  saddle 
and  bridle  belonged  to  me,  hence  my  enlistment  was  in 
the  cavalry.  During  the  early  part  of  the  winter  the 
officers  decided  that  as  horse  feed  was  so  scarce,  the 
horses  should  be  sent  into  Texas  to  graze  through  the 
winter,  promising  that  each  man's  horse  should  be  re- 
stored to  him  in  the  spring.  I  parted  with  my  horse 
reluctantly,  but  of  course,  after  enlistment  had  to  obey 
orders.  I  never  saw  him  again  and  when  spring  came 
I  was  compelled  to  enter  the  infantry.  Brother  James 
and  many  others  were  in  the  same  condition. 

We  were  assigned  to  a  company  of  Missouri 
troops.  Our  captain's  name  was  Miller.  His  home  was 
in  northeast  Missouri.  Our  first  lieutenant's  name  was 
Miller  also,  and  his  home  was  in  Burr  Oak  Bottom,  Kan- 
sas. 


HOME  FOR  RECRUITS  145 

The  first  business  in  the  spring  was  the  guarding  of 
the  line  across  Arkansas  from  Fort  Smith  to  Helena. 
We  had  our  portion  and  did  our  work.  Later  General 
Holmes  was  given  command  and  marched  us  across  the 
state  and,  I  have  always  thought,  very  foolishly  at- 
tacked the  fortifications  at  Helena.  The  river  was  full 
of  gunboats  and  if  he  had  been  successful  he  could  not 
have  held  the  place.  He  was  repulsed,  however,  and 
his  troops  badly  cut  up.  The  Missouri  troops  declared 
they  would  serve  no  longer  under  Holmes.  Whether 
for  this  or  some  other  reason,  he  was  removed  and 
command  given  to  General  Drayton. 

I  do  not  remember  that  Drayton  did  anything  but 
keep  us  lying  in  camp,  drilling  every  day,  with  now  and 
then  a  dress  parade,  with  all  the  women  and  children 
in  the  country  invited  to  come  and  see  us.  This  was 
very  distasteful  to  us.  We  felt  that  we  were  not  there  to 
be  raced  around  over  the  hot  sand  in  the  hot  sun  just  to 
be  looked  at.  Aside  from  this  we  had  a  pretty  good 
time  cock-fighting,  horse  racing  and  playing  seven-up 
for  tobacco. 

General  Price  came  back  to  us  about  Christmas 
and  the  Missouri  boys  planned  a  great  celebration. 
Christmas  day  about  five  hundred  took  their  guns  and 
marched  around  to  the  headquarters  of  each  colonel 
and  made  him  treat  or  take  a  bumping  against  a  tree. 
We  then  marched  up  to  General  Drayton's  headquar- 
ters. His  negro  cooks  and  waiters  were  getting  supper. 
They  were  soon  cleared  away  and  the  general  was 
called  out.  He  backed  up  against  a  tree  as  though  he 
expected  to  be  shot,  but  he  soon  found  we  were  only 
bent  upon  a  little  fun.  The  boys  produced  their  fid- 
dles and  set  to  playing.  Then  they  sang  and  danced 
and  now  and  then  we  fired  a  volley  just  to  make  the 
woods  ring.  The  General  seemed  to  enjoy  the  fun  and 


146  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

told  the  boys  to  play  on  the  bones.  One  quickly  re- 
plied that  we  had  been  playing  on  bones  all  winter  and 
pretty  dry  bones,  too.  The  General  saw  the  joke  and 
smiled  good-naturedly. 

We  next  moved  up  and  took  possession  of  a  six- 
gun  battery.  The  muskets  were  not  noisy  enough.  The 
first  round  brought  Drayton.  He  ordered  us  to  stop, 
but  we  told  him  it  was  Christmas  and  paid  no  attention 
to  him.  He  sent  for  General  Price,  and  as  the  General 
and  his  body  guard  rode  up  we  ceased  firing  and  set  to 
waving  hats  and  cheering.  "Pap,"  as  we  called  General 
Price,  told  us  we  could  have  our  Christmas  fun  but  we 
must  not  disturb  the  battery.  That  was  enough.  We 
always  did  what  "Pap"  told  us  to  do.  If  he  said  fight 
we  fought,  and  when  he  said  run  we  ran. 

It  was  too  early  to  stop  the  fun,  so  we  decided  to  go 
over  and  see  the  Arkansas  boys  who  were  camped 
about  two  miles  away.  We  found  on  arriving  that  the 
boys  who  wrore  straps  on  their  shoulders  had  organ- 
ized a  dance  in  a  big  tent  and  invited  the  girls  for 
miles  around.  The  dance  was  in  full  swing.  The 
guards  around  the  tent  halted  us  and  asked  if  we  had 
a  pass.  We  said  "Yes,  this  is  Christmas,"  and  passed 
on.  We  made  no  noise  or  disturbance,  but  walked 
quietly  up  around  the  tent,  and  each  man  cut  himself  a 
window  so  he  could  look  in  on  the  scene.  The  shoul- 
der straps  were  furious  and  came  swarming  out  like 
hornets.  We  laughed  at  them  and  told  them  to  go  on 
with  the  dance,  but  they  would  not  do  it  and  sent  for 
General  Price.  We  learned  this  and  started  back,  and 
met  the  General  going  toward  the  Arkansas  camp  and 
cheered  him  wildly.  He  passed  on  and  said  nothing, 
though  I  am  sure  he  knew  we  were  the  boys  he  was  af- 
ter. We  went  into  camp  and  nothing  was  ever  said 
about  our  frolic. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
War  in  Arkansas. 

Some  time  early  in  the  year  1863,  Price  moved  his 
forces  to  Little  Rock.  The  Federal  forces  under  Gen- 
eral Steele  approached  from  Springfield,  and  Price  be- 
gan preparations  to  receive  them.  His  army  was  much 
inferior  to  the  attacking  force  and  every  precaution 
was  taken  to  give  us  the  advantage.  We  crossed  to  the 
north  side  of  the  river  from  Little  Rock  and  dug  a 
trench  in  the  shape  of  a  rainbow  touching  the  river 
above  and  below  the  town  and  more  than  a  mile  in 
length.  The  enemy  approached  within  two  miles  of 
our  trench  and  halted  and  remained  in  that  position 
nearly  a  week.  We  had  little  rest  during  that  time.  The 
drum  tapped  every  morning  at  four  o'clock  and  we  had 
to  crawl  out  and  fall  into  our  ditch,  where  we  re- 
mained until  the  danger  of  an  early  morning  attack  was 
over  and  then  got  out  for  breakfast. 

On  the  seventh  day,  if  I  remember  correctly,  the 
Federals  broke  camp  and  marched  ten  miles  down  the 
river  and  commenced  building  a  pontoon  bridge.  Price 
sent  his  cavalry  and  artillery  down  to  visit  them,  but 
the  fire  was  not  heavy  enough  and  the  bridge  was  built 
in  spite  of  their  best  efforts.  We  were  called  out  of 
our  trenches  in  the  meantime  and  taken  across  the  river 
on  a  foot  bridge  built  upon  small  boats.  When  we 
reached  Little  Rock  I  was  surprised  to  find  everything 
gone.  Ox  teams  and  mule  teams  were  strung  out  for 
miles  hauling  our  freight  and  army  supplies.  We 
marched  behind  with  orders  to  protect  the  train  and  I 


148  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

thought  we  would  certainly  be  attacked,  but  we  were 
not.  Steele  made  Little  Rock  his  headquarters  for  the 
summer. 

About  fifty  miles  south  of  Little  Rock  we  went  in- 
to camp.  At  that  time  I  belonged  to  Clark's  brigade. 
Mercer  was  our  Colonel,  Gaines  our  major  and  Miller 
our  captain.  Clark's  division  was  ordered  to  go  down 
on  the  Mississippi  River  below  the  mouth  of  the  Arkan- 
sas and  destroy  steam  boats  that  were  carrying  sup- 
plies from  St.  Louis  to  Vicksburg.  The  siege  was  going 
on  at  that  time,  and  the  Federal  troops  were  being  sup- 
plied with  provision  largely  by  way  of  the  river.  There 
were  two  regiments  in  the  division  and  we  had  with  us 
a  six  gun  battery.  We  reached  the  river  and  concealed 
ourselves  at  a  point  where  the  current  approached 
close  to  the  west  bank,  judging,  by  the  low  stage  of  the 
riv.er,  that  the  boats  would  be  compelled  to  follow 
the  current.  We  had  not  been  in  hiding  very  long  un- 
til we  saw  seven  boats  steaming  their  way  down  the 
river  with  a  small  gunboat  trailing  along  behind  as 
guard  or  convoy.  When  the  foremost  boat  reached  a 
point  near  the  shore  and  directly  opposite  us,  it  was 
halted  and  ordered  ashore.  There  were  soldiers  on  the 
boat  and  they  ran  out  on  deck  and  fired  at  us.  We  re- 
turned the  fire  and  cleared  the  deck  the  first  round. 
The  next  round  was  from  our  battery.  The  range  was 
easy  and  one  ball  struck  her  boilers.  The  hot  water 
and  steam  flew  in  every  direction.  She  headed  for 
the  farther  shore  and  drifted  on  a  sand  bar.  The  sol- 
diers leaped  from  the  boat  and  swam  for  their  lives. 

The  six  other  boats  received  very  much  the  same 
treatment.  They  were  all  disabled  and  sunk  or  drifted 
helplessly  down  the  river.  The  little  gunboat  was  help- 
less also.  When  the  attack  began  it  was  under  a  bank 
and  had  to  steam  back  up  the  river  before  it  could  get 


WAR  IN  ARKANSAS  149 

in  range  to  shoot  at  us.  When  the  little  bull  dog  got 
back  in  range  it  threw  shot  and  shell  into  the  timber 
like  a  hail  storm,  but  our  work  had  been  done  and  we 
were  out  and  gone.  The  volley  fired  from  the  deck  of 
the  first  boat  wounded  one  man,  John  Harper,  in  the 
knee.  That  was  our  only  damage. 

We  then  went  some  fifteen  miles  farther  down  and 
from  the  levee  crippled  two  more  transports.  From 
there  we  followed  the  levee  until  we  could  hear  the  big 
guns  at  Vicksburg.  That  was  July  3d,  1863.  Next  day 
about  noon  the  heavy  artillery  ceased  and  we  soon 
learned  that  Pemberton  had  surrendered.  On  July  5th 
cavalry  sent  across  the  river  from  Vicksburg  were 
scouring  the  Arkansas  side  of  the  river,  looking  for 
"bushwhackers  who  had  cannon  with  them."  We  fled 
back  into  the  pine  knobs  and  escaped  easily. 

I  have  been  unable  to  recall  further  active  service 
in  1863.  We  remained  inactive  and  in  camp  most  of 
the  time  and  the  monotonous  life  failed  to  impress  its 
small  events  upon  my  memory. 

Active  operations  in  1864  began,  as  well  as  I  re- 
call, about  the  first  of  March,  when  Steele  left  his  sta- 
tion at  Little  Rock  and  started  for  Shreveport.  We 
understood  that  his  army  numbered  forty  thousand 
men.  It  was  certainly  much  larger  than  Price's  army. 
As  soon  as  it  was  learned  that  Steele  had  started  south 
Price  broke  camp  and  set  out  to  meet  him,  not  with  the 
idea  of  entering  into  an  engagement,  but  for  the  pur- 
pose of  harassing  and  delaying  him.  I  do  not  remem- 
ber where  the  two  armies  first  came  in  contact  with 
each  other,  but  I  recall  distinctly  the  weeks  of  scouting, 
marching  here  and  there,  skirmishing  now  and  then 
with  detachments  of  Steele's  army,  and  retreating  when 
reinforcements  appeared.  The  infantry  kept  always 
in  front,  resisting  progress  at  every  point,  while  the 


150  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

cavalry  under  Marmaduke  and  Shelby  went  to  the  rear 
and  threatened  the  long  train  of  supplies.  They  made 
dashing  attacks  upon  the  line  at  every  available  point, 
fighting  only  long  enough  to  force  Steele  to  prepare  for 
battle  and  then  rapidly  retreating.  In  this  way  Steele's 
men  were  kept  on  the  run,  forward  to  fight  the  infantry 
and  backward  to  resist  the  cavalry.  At  night  our  men 
would  frequently  push  a  battery  up  near  his  camp  and 
throw  shells  in  upon  him  all  night.  I  do  not  know  how 
fast  Steele  traveled,  but  he  must  have  considered  five 
miles  a  day  good  progress. 

During  this  time  Banks  was  approaching  Shreve- 
port  up  Red  River  with  sixty  thousand  men,  and  the 
object  was  to  prevent  a  union  of  these  forces.  Eight 
gunboats  were  also  making  their  way  up  the  river. 

General  Dick  Taylor  had  about  ten  thousand  Texas 
and  Louisiana  troops  and  he  was  resisting  the  approach 
of  Banks.  As  I  remember  it,  Taylor  had  risked  several 
engagements  with  Banks,  but  had  been  compelled  to 
fall  back  each  time.  Finally  he  sent  to  Price  for  help. 
Price  decided  to  employ  his  cavalry  upon  Steele  so  he 
sent  his  infantry,  about  five  thousand,  to  Taylor.  That 
included  me,  as  my  horse  had  never  been  brought  back 
from  pasture  in  Texas. 

We  made  a  forced  march  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  to  Shreveport,  and  then  hurried  down  Red  River 
to  Sabine  Cross  Roads.  We  joined  Taylor  and  on  the 
eighth  day  of  April  attacked  Banks  and  defeated  him. 
He  retreated  to  Pleasant  Hill.  After  the  battle  we  took 
a  few  hours'  rest,  and  when  night  came  Taylor  ordered 
us  to  cook  one  day's  rations  ahead.  About  nine  o'clock 
we  were  ordered  out  and  placed  like  blood  hounds  up- 
on Bank's  tracks.  They  were  easy  to  follow.  The 
tracks  were  fresh,  blood  was  plentiful  and  dead  and 
wounded  negroes  lay  now  and  then  alongside  the 


WAR  IN  ARKANSAS  151 

road.  We  marched  all  night  and  until  twelve  o'clock 
next  day.  About  that  hour  we  came  to  a  small  stream 
about  two  miles  from  Pleasant  Hill.  There  we  stopped 
and  had  a  drink  and  ate  a  lunch. 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  were  thrown 
into  battle  line  and  ordered  to  march  on  to  Pleasant 
Hill.  Banks  had  received  reinforcements  and  was 
waiting  for  us.  We  passed  through  a  body  of  timber 
and  there  encountered  the  Zouaves  who  were  hid  be- 
hind trees.  One  of  them  shot  and  killed  our  cook,  Al 
St.  John,  who  was  from  Platte  County,  Missouri.  This 
was  a  bad  start  for  us,  but  we  routed  the  Zouaves  and 
marched  on  through  the  timber  to  an  open  cotton  field 
which  lay  between  us  and  Pleasant  Hill.  When  we 
passed  out  of  the  timber  we  could  see  the  town  and 
Bank's  army  lying  in  gullies  and  behind  fences  waiting 
for  us. 

When  we  got  within  range  firing  began.  I  do  not 
remember  which  side  opened,  but  I  know  the  fight 
was  open  and  in  earnest.  Our  line  was  about  a 
mile  long  and  for  a  time  each  side  stood  firm.  Directly 
I  heard  a  yell  up  at  the  north  end  of  our  line.  It  was 
too  indistinct  to  be  understood  and  for  a  time  I  did  not 
comprehend  it,  but  it  came  closer  and  closer  by  regi- 
ments one  after  the  other  until  our  regiment  was  or- 
dered to  charge.  Then  we  took  up  the  yell  and  dashed 
forward.  The  yell  passed  on  down  the  line  until  our 
whole  force  was  on  the  move.  We  routed  the  enemy 
and  drove  them  back  into  the  city  where  some  of  them 
crept  under  old  out  houses  to  escape  the  bayonet.  Then 
our  line  came  to  a  stop.  Their  reinforcements  came  in 
from  the  rear  with  a  yell  and  went  after  us.  It  looked 
like  the  whole  sixty  thousand  had  suddenly  sprung 
from  the  earth.  We  thought  we  had  gained  a  great  vic- 
tory when  really  we  had  only  driven  in  the  pickets.  As 


152  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

they  came  the  yell  went  up  on  the  other  side.  We  stood 
right  there  and  tried  to  whip  the  whole  army.  We 
stopped  the  yell  but  had  to  go.  As  we  turned  to  go  back 
I  saw  a  battery  horse  running  across  the  battle  ground 
with  his  harness  on  and  his  entrails  dragging  the 
ground.  Several  other  horses  were  running  with  sad- 
dles on  their  sides,  showing  their  riders  had  been  shot 
and  in  falling  had  turned  the  saddles.  Those  horses 
were  all  killed  by  bullets  from  one  side  or  the  other 
before  they  got  off  the  battlefield. 

We  fell  back  about  two  hundred  yards  and  ral- 
lied and  made  a  second  attack.  By  that  time  Banks  was 
moving  away  from  us.  When  the  guns  ceased  suf- 
ficiently to  enable  me  to  hear  the  report  of  my  own 
gun,  I  could  hear  also  Bank's  baggage  and  trap  wagons 
rattling  and  banging  out  of  Pleasant  Hill.  They  went 
like  a  cyclone  and  that  ended  the  bloody  battle.  We 
marched  back  two  miles  to  the  little  creek  where  we 
had  stopped  at  noon  for  lunch  and  camped  for  the 
night.  Next  morning  Taylor's  cavalry  started  in  pur- 
suit and  saw  Banks  safely  back  to  New  Orleans.  There 
Banks  lost  his  job.  At  the  same  time  the  cavalry 
started  in  pursuit  of  Banks,  the  infantry  began  a 
forced  march  to  Shreveport  to  meet  Price  and  Steele. 
When  we  reached  Shreveport  neither  Price  nor  Steele 
had  arrived  and  we  did  not  halt,  but  continued  on  to- 
ward Little  Rock.  About  forty  miles  back  on  the  road 
we  came  upon  Price  camped  by  the  roadside,  with 
Steele  penned  up  in  Camden,  a  town  on  the  Ouachita 
River.  Steele  had  gone  into  an  evacuated  Confeder- 
ate fort  to  allow  his  army  to  rest,  and  Price  had  sur- 
rounded him  except  upon  the  side  next  the  river.  It 
was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  our  forces 
joined  Price.  The  boys  were  all  well  and  in  fine  spirits 


WAR  IN  ARKANSAS  153 

and  had  many  things  to  tell  us  and  were  greatly  inter- 
ested in  our  experience  on  the  Mississippi  and  at 
Pleasant  Hill. 

About  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Price  rolled 
two  guns  up  on  a  hill  and  fired  a  few  shots  into  Steele's 
camp,  but  got  no  answer.  He  ceased  firing  and  nothing 
more  was  done  that  night.  Next  morning  Steele  and 
his  whole  army  were  gone,  and  the  bridge  across  the 
river  was  burned.  A  temporary  bridge  was  hurriedly 
built  and  the  infantry  crossed  and  started  in  pursuit. 
We  followed  all  day  and  all  night  and  overtook  them 
about  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning.  I  understood 
that  our  cavalry  had  followed  by  forced  marches  also 
and  had  gone  ahead  of  Steele.  At  any  rate,  Steele,  in 
place  of  following  the  main  road,  switched  off  and 
went  about  three  miles  down  into  the  Saline  River  bot- 
tom. The  river  was  very  high  and  all  the  sloughs  and 
ditches  were  full  of  water.  When  we  came  up  Steele 
was  throwing  his  pontoon  bridge  over  the  river  and 
his  forces  were  digging  ditches  and  felling  trees  to  keep 
us  back  until  they  could  get  across. 

Marmaduke  made  the  first  attack,  as  I  remember, 
and  charged  the  rude  breast- works.  He  drove  the  troops 
behind  them  back  into  the  level  bottom  and  there  the 
Arkansas  infantry  was  set  to  work.  They  forced  the 
line  gradually  back  toward  the  river,  and  after  an 
hour's  fighting  we  were  sent  to  relieve  them.  Our  at- 
tack began  about  twelve  o'clock  in  a  pouring  rain.  They 
would  make  desperate  stands  behind  rail  fences  and  in 
clumps  of  timber  and  we  sometimes  had  hard  work  to 
dislodge  them.  When  driven  from  one  point  they 
would  immediately  take  up  another.  This  would  force 
us  to  maneuver  through  the  mud  and  water  to  get  at 
them  again.  The  last  strong  resistance  was  made  about 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  forces  fighting  us 


154  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

had  managed  to  get  into  a  body  of  timber  on  the  north 
side  of  an  open  cotton  field.  A  high  rail  fence  separ- 
ated the  field  from  the  timber  and  this  fence  made  ex- 
cellent breast  works.  In  charging  we  were  compelled 
to  cross  the  field  exposed  to  their  fire.  We  made  a  run 
and  when  about  half  across  the  bullets  came  so  thick 
we  could  go  no  further.  We  were  ordered  to  lie  down. 
Every  man  dropped  on  his  face  with  his  head  toward 
the  enemy.  Lying  in  this  position  we  fired  upon  them 
and  turned  upon  our  backs  to  reload.  We  fought  in 
this  fashion  until  Taylor's  infantry  relieved  us. 

When  Taylor's  fresh  troops  dashed  over  us  with  a 
yell  the  forces  behind  the  fence  wavered  and  finally 
ran,  but  it  was  then  about  time  for  them  to  run.  They 
had  held  us  until  most  of  the  army  had  crossed  the 
river.  They  then  made  their  escape  and  cut  the  pon- 
toon bridge  behind  them.  We  secured  most  of  their 
heavy  guns  as  they  had  to  keep  them  back  to  use  on  us. 
The  battle  was  ended  and  I  was  glad  of  it.  I  never 
passed  a  more  dreadful  day.  With  rain  pouring  down 
from  above,  with  sloughs  waist  deep  to  wade,  and  with 
mud  ankle  deep  over  the  whole  battle  field  our  con- 
dition may  be  easily  imagined.  Besides  this  we  were 
black  as  negroes  when  we  went  into  camp.  In  biting 
off  the  ends  of  our  paper  cartridges  the  loose  powder 
would  stick  to  our  wet  faces  and  become  smeared  over 
them.  Our  gun  sticks  were  black  with  exploded  powder, 
and  in  handling  them  with  wet  hands  we  became  com- 
pletely covered  with  grime.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
sorry  looking,  miserable,  muddy,  rain  soaked  and  be- 
draggled soldiers  that  came  into  camp  that  night. 

We  were  not  the  only  men  who  suffered  that  day. 
While  we  were  lying  on  the  field,  Price  ordered  a  bat- 
tery to  our  assistance.  The  captain  pulled  his  battery 
down  the  road  and  ran  into  a  negro  regiment  concealed 


WAR  IN  ARKANSAS  155 

in  the  timber.  The  battery  boys  dismounted  and  were 
getting  ready  for  business  when  the  negroes  charged 
and  captured  the  battery.  About  half  the  company 
swam  a  slough  and  got  away.  The  other  half  were  ta- 
ken prisoners.  They  had  no  sooner  laid  down  their 
arms  than  the  negroes  shot  and  killed  them  all.  As  we 
lay  upon  the  field  we  could  see  and  hear  but  little,  but 
this  massacre  occurred  in  plain  view  from  where  we 
lay.  As  soon  as  we  were  relieved  a  portion  of  our 
forces  immediately  attacked  the  negro  regiment  and 
without  mercy  killed  and  wounded  about  half  of  them 
and  recaptured  the  guns;  but  the  negroes  had  shot  the 
horses  and  that  rendered  the  guns  useless. 

Next  day  I  was  detailed  to  help  bury  the  dead. 
Several  large  wagons  were  provided  with  six  mules 
and  a  driver  to  each  wagon.  Four  men  to  each  wagon 
loaded  the  bodies  in.  The  end  gate  was  taken  out  of 
the  bed.  Two  men  stood  on  each  side  of  a  body.  One 
on  each  side  held  an  arm  and  one  each  side  a  leg.  The 
second  swing  the  body  went  in  head  foremost.  When 
the  wagon  was  full  it  was  driven  off  to  where  another 
squad  had  prepared  a  long  trench  into  which  the  bodies 
were  thrown  and  covered  up.  It  required  most  of  the 
day  to  complete  our  work. 

The  wounded  were  removed  from  the  field  and 
cared  for  temporarily  as  they  fell.  The  flight  of  the 
Federal  forces  made  it  impossible  for  them  to  care  for 
their  wounded  immediately,  so  they  were  taken  up  by 
our  men  and  given  such  attention  as  we  could  give 
them. 

Next  day  was  the  doctors'  day.  I  was  ordered  to 
go  along  and  assist.  Three  doctors  went  together, 
and  over  each  wounded  man  they  held  a  consultation. 
If  two  of  them  said  amputate,  it  was  done  at  once. 
When  they  came  to  a  man  with  a  wound  on  his  head 


156  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

they  would  smile  and  say,  "We  had  better  not  ampu- 
tate in  this  case."  It  seemed  to  me  they  made  many 
useless  amputations. 

One  doctor  carried  a  knife  with  a  long  thin  blade. 
He  would  draw  this  around  the  limb  and  cut  the  flesh 
to  the  bone.  The  second  had  a  saw  with  which  he 
sawed  the  bone.  The  third  had  a  pair  of  forceps  with 
which  he  clasped  the  blood  vessels,  and  a  needle  with 
which  he  sewed  the  skin  over  the  wound. 

The  first  man  I  saw  them  work  upon  was  a  Union 
soldier.  All  three  said  his  leg  must  come  off.  They  be- 
gan administering  chloroform,  but  he  was  a  very  hard 
subject  and  fought  it  bitterly.  They  asked  me  to  hold 
his  head,  and  I  did  so.  As  soon  as  he  was  quiet  they 
went  to  work  on  him.  When  I  saw  how  they  cut  and 
slashed  I  let  his  head  loose.  I  thought  if  he  wanted  to 
wake  up  and  fight  them  he  should  have  a  fair  chance. 
I  told  the  doctors  that  I  did  not  go  to  war  to  hold  men 
while  they  butchered  them;  that  I  had  done  all  to  that 
man  that  my  contract  called  for  and  that  I  thought  he 
was  well  paid  for  his  trip.  I  was  in  real  earnest  about 
it,  but  the  doctors  laughed  at  me  and  said  they  would 
soon  teach  me  to  be  a  surgeon. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
Back  Into  Missouri. 

I  have  no  distinct  recollection  of  leaving  the 
camp  on  Saline  River,  nor  do  I  recall  the  military  oper- 
ations that  followed  the  battle  I  have  just  described. 
I  know  that  Steele  went  on  south  and  that  Price  did  not 
follow  him.  Steele  and  Ranks  were  both  well  out  of 
the  country,  and  it  is  probable  that  we  passed  a  few 
weeks  of  idleness  and  inactivity.  At  all  events,  my 
memory,  upon  which  I  depend  entirely,  fails  to  account 
for  the  events  immediately  following  the  experience  I 
have  related,  and  my  next  vivid  recollection  begins  at 
White  River,  where  we  were  swimming  our  horses 
across  on  our  march  back  into  Missouri.  Price,  Shelby 
and  Marmaduke  were  all  together.  We  passed  through 
Dover,  a  little  town  where  John  H.  Rennett,  a  cousin  of 
mine,  who  was  captain  of  one  of  our  companies,  lived 
and  thence  on  to  Ironton. 

There  we  found  about  two  thousand  government 
troops,  well  fortified  just  north  of  town,  in  a  little  valley 
at  the  foot  of  a  mountain.  They  came  out  and  met  us 
two  miles  from  Ironton  where  we  had  a  skirmish  and 
they  went  back  into  their  den.  We  marched  into  town 
and  camped.  It  was  reported  among  the  soldiers  that 
Price  was  having  ladders  made  with  which  to  scale  the 
walls,  but  I  did  not  believe  it.  Such  an  attack  would 
have  been  successful  in  all  probability,  but  it  would 
have  cost  Price  many  men  and  I  was  sure  he  had  none 
to  spare.  Toward  night  he  had  two  field  pieces  rolled 
up  on  top  of  the  mountain  by  hand  and  began  to  drop 
shells  into  their  camp.  They  had  neglected  to  fortify 
the  heavens  above  them  and  Price  was  taking  advan- 


158  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

tage  of  their  neglect.  When  a  shell  dropped  into  camp 
you  could  see  them  running  away  in  every  direction 
looking  for  a  place  to  hide. 

Some  time  in  the  night  they  broke  through  our 
picket  line  and  marched  ten  miles  to  a  railroad  station 
where  they  were  loaded  upon  flat  cars  and  taken  to  St. 
Louis.  Price  continued  on  toward  St.  Louis  and  great- 
ly alarmed  that  city.  Troops  were  hurried  from  east 
and  west  to  its  defense,  but  Price  had  no  such  plan.  His 
sole  idea  was  to  threaten  and  draw  troops  from  other 
places  to  its  protection. 

On  the  way  up  from  Ironton  we  captured  two  or 
three  hundred  militia  at  every  county  seat.  For  all  that 
could  be  guessed  from  his  actions,  Price  intended  to 
march  directly  into  Jefferson  City,  but  shortly  before  he 
reached  there  he  turned  to  the  west  and  went  to  Boon- 
ville.  There  he  captured  quite  a  large  force  of  Fed- 
eral troops  and  a  steam  ferry  boat.  Marmaduke  with 
his  brigade  crossed  the  river  and  marched  up  the  north 
side  toward  Glasgow,  while  Price  and  Shelby  kept  to 
the  south  side.  Price  put  a  guard  on  the  boat  and 
compelled  the  crew  to  run  it  up  the  river  in  conjunc- 
tion with  his  forces.  At  Glasgow  we  captured  some- 
thing like  a  thousand  troops.  Marmaduke  then  re- 
crossed  the  river  and  joined  Price. 

At  Glasgow  Lieutenant  Evans  got  permission  for 
himself  and  twenty-five  men  to  return  to  Buchanan 
County  to  see  their  friends.  I  was  one  of  the  twenty- 
five.  From  Glasgow  we  went  to  Keytesville  where  we 
met  Bill  Anderson,  the  noted  "Bushwhacker,"  with 
about  one  hundred  men.  Anderson  and  his  men  ac- 
companied us  to  Brunswick,  where  we  learned  that 
there  were  about  three  hundred  militia  at  Carrollton. 
Anderson  said  they  were  dreadfully  afraid  of  "bush- 
whackers," and  that  he  believed  the  twenty-five  of  us 


BACK  INTO  MISSOURI  159 

could  run  them  out  of  town,  but  he  sent  fifteen  of  his 
men  with  us.  We  left  Brunswick  in  the  night  and  at  four 
o'clock  next  morning  were  a  mile  north  of  Carrollton. 
There  we  stopped  to  wait  for  daylight.  When  it  began 
to  grow  light  we  all  rode  together  until  we  encountered 
the  pickets.  As  soon  as  they  saw  us  they  turned  and 
galloped  into  town  as  fast  as  their  horses  could  carry 
them  without  firing  a  shot.  This  enabled  us  to  get  in- 
to the  town  before  any  alarm  was  given,  as  our  horses 
were  as  fast  as  those  ridden  by  the  pickets.  We  rode 
in  with  a  whoop  and  a  yell,  dismounted  and  got  behind 
a  fence.  The  fifteen  bushwhackers  ran  around  to  the 
west  side  of  town  in  plain  view  of  the  militia  camp  and 
commenced  firing.  Lieutenant  Evans  sent  a  man  ask- 
ing them  to  surrender.  The  colonel  asked  who  the  at- 
tacking force  was.  The  man  told  him  it  was  Jo  Shelby. 
The  colonel  sent  word  back  that  he  would  surrender  in 
one  hour.  Evans  returned  the  messenger  with  direc- 
tions to  the  Colonel  that  if  he  did  not  surrender  in  five 
minutes  he  would  open  the  artillery  upon  him.  The 
colonel  decided  to  surrender  and  marched  his  men  out 
into  an  open  place  and  had  them  stack  arms  and  march 
away  to  a  safe  distance.  We  closed  in  and  immediately 
took  possession  of  the  arms  and  marched  the  Federals 
into  the  court  house  and  locked  them  up.  They  had  sur- 
rendered believing  we  were  merely  the  detachment  de- 
tailed to  come  and  receive  the  surrnder  and  were  great- 
ly chagrined  when  they  found  that  we  constituted  the 
entire  force  that  had  attacked  them.  It  was  all  over  by 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

We  cooked  our  breakfast  upon  their  fires  and 
out  of  their  provisions.  The  town  took  a  holiday,  as  it 
was  strongly  southern  in  sentiment,  and  so  did  we.  In 


160  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

the  afternoon  we  engaged  all  the  barbers  in  town,  and 
as  we  were  coming  back  home  to  see  our  girls  we  had 
considerable  shopping  to  do. 

The  ferry  boat,  still  under  order  of  General  Price, 
had  come  up  the  river  and  we  sent  a  messenger  down 
to  stop  it,  and  late  in  the  evening  marched  our  prison- 
ers down  and  loaded  them  on.  We  also  hauled  along 
all  the  provisions,  guns  and  equipment  and  sent  the 
whole  across  to  Price. 

Anderson's  men  left  us  and  returned  to  Brunswick, 
and  we  camped  for  the  night  on  Waukenda  Creek,  two 
miles  west  of  Carrollton.  Early  next  morning  we 
moved  on  and  by  noon  were  in  the  hills  north  of  Rich- 
mond and  at  night  were  in  camp  at  Watkins'  woolen 
mills  in  Clay  County,  two  miles  east  of  the  home  of 
my  sister,  whom  I  have  fequently  mentioned. 
Watkins  gave  us  a  cordial  welcome,  dressed  a 
shoat  and  a  sheep  and  brought  them  out  to  us  and 
otherwise  showed  us  many  kindnesses.  Next  day  we 
visited  Mrs.  Wilson  and  the  following  day  completed 
our  journey  and  camped  in  the  brush  in  Tremont 
Township. 

Everything  seemed  quiet,  but  we  observed  great 
discretion  and  did  not  venture  from  camp  in  the  day- 
time. After  remaining  on  the  east  side  of  Platte  for 
about  ten  days  without  being  molested,  we  crossed  the 
river  and  camped  in  the  hills  along  Pigeon  Creek.  Wall 
Brinton,  Harvey  and  Bennett  Reece,  George  Berryhill, 
and  Joe,  Bill  and  John  Evans,  boys  in  our  party, 
all  lived  on  that  side  of  the  river.  Our  camp 
remained  there  some  two  weeks  without  being 
molested.  During  the  time  we  captured  three  soldiers 
a  few  miles  west  of  Agency.  They  were  on  picket,  sent 
out  from  St.  Joseph,  and  in  patroling  the  road  came 
very  close  to  our  camp.  As  we  did  not  need  any 


BACK  INTO  MISSOURI  161 

pickets  we  took  them  in.  One  of  them  volunteered  to 
join  us,  and  as  we  knew  him  we  allowed  him  to  do  so 
and  to  keep  his  gun.  The  other  two  were  kept  pris- 
oners and  their  guns  given  to  Bennett  Reece  and  Har- 
vey McCanse,  two  recruits,  who  had  joined  us. 

Shortly  after  this  our  camp  was  moved  back  to  the 
east  side  of  the  Platte  and  located  in  the  bluffs  near 
the  home  of  Joab  Shultz.  Here  we  remained  in  seclu- 
sion, keeping  the  captured  pickets  as  prisoners  to  pre- 
vent them  from  returning  to  St.  Joseph  and  disclosing 
that  we  were  in  the  country.  We  had  little  difficulty 
in  keeping  our  presence  from  the  knowledge  of  Pen- 
ick  and  his  men,  as  most  of  the  residents  of  the  com- 
munity were  our  friends.  Bad  luck,  however,  befell 
us.  John  Utz  and  Billy  Jones,  hearing  that  we  were  at 
home  and  desiring  to  go  south  with  us  on  our  return, 
came  to  my  old  home  to  ascertain  our  whereabouts.  My 
sister,  who  lived  on  the  place,  would  tell  them  nothing 
but  referred  them  to  James  Jeffreys.  Instead  of  going 
to  James  Jeffreys,  they  went  to  George  Jeffreys,  a 
strong  Union  man,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  where 
Gibson  and  Brinton  were.  Jeffreys  replied  that  he  did 
not  know  they  were  in  the  country.  Jones  said,  "Yes, 
they  are  here  with  twenty-five  or  thirty  men."  Failing 
to  learn  of  us  from  Jeffreys  they  returned  to  the  home 
of  my  sister,  where,  during  their  absence,  Cousin  Mar- 
garet Gibson  had  arrived,  and  as  she  knew  Utz  and 
Jones,  told  them  how  to  find  us. 

George  Jeffreys,  that  "good  Union  man,"  lost  no 
time  in  communicating  with  Penick,  for  next  day  all 
roads  were  full  of  soldiers.  Cousin  Margaret  Gibson 
came  running  to  our  camp  and  told  us  the  soldiers  were 
looking  for  us.  We  released  our  prisoners  and  started. 
When  well  out  on  the  road  we  agreed  upon  a  meeting 
place  and  separated,  thus  leaving  each  man  to  look  out 


162  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

for  himself  and  at  the  same  time  taking  responsibility 
for  any  one  else  off  of  each  man.  This  was  thought  to 
be  wise,  as  our  little  band  was  no  match  for  the  enemy, 
bue  the  enemy  were  not  acquainted  with  the  by  paths 
through  the  woods  and  brush,  and  by  going  singly  we 
were  at  liberty  to  dodge  to  better  advantage.  Jones  and 
Utz  came  to  join  us  shortly  after  we  broke  camp,  and 
undertook  to  follow.  Penick's  men  caught  them  and 
made  them  prisoners. 

Every  man  showed  up  at  the  meeting  place  a  mile 
below  Agency.  There  we  crossed  to  the  west  side  of 
the  river  and  stopped  for  a  hasty  lunch  and  to  see  if  we 
were  being  followed.  Seeing  nothing  of  the  enemy  we 
concluded  they  had  taken  another  course  and  that  we 
were  safe  in  remaining  in  the  neighborhood  over  night. 
In  the  afternoon  we  procured  flour  and  bacon  from 
Jim  Patee,  where  we  were  all  given  a  square  meal, 
after  which  we  went  to  old  man  Reece's  for  the  night 
in  order  that  the  Reece  boys  might  say  farewell  to  their 
father  and  mother. 

In  the  morning  early  we  started,  crossing  the  Pigeon 
Creek  hills  and  making  our  way  south.  At  Isaac 
Farris'  blacksmith  shop  we  stopped  and  got  horse-shoe 
nails  and  a  shoeing  hammer.  I  shall  never  forget  also 
that  Mr.  Farris  brought  out  a  stack  of  pies  which 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  foot  high.  Although  I  had  been 
at  home  a  month  where  I  had  feasted  bountifully,  pies 
still  tasted  good.  I  had  lived  on  hard  tack  or  worse  so 
long  that  I  felt  I  could  never  again  satisfy  my  appetite 
with  good  things  to  eat. 

We  next  stopped  at  the  home  of  Pleas  Yates,  where 
we  found  Captain  Reynolds,  an  officer  in  Penick's 
regiment.  He  had  left  his  company  and  was  visiting 
his  family.  He  had  been  very  active  against  the  south- 
ern people  in  the  community  and,  as  we  believed,  justly 


BACK  INTO  MISSOURI  163 

deserved  their  censure,  if  the  word  hatred  would  not 
better  describe  their  sentiments.  As  we  rode  up  Rey- 
nolds came  to  the  door,  the  ivory  shining  on  the  pistols 
in  his  belt.  He  seemed  to  think  we  were  his  own  men. 
Lieutenant  Evans  ordered  four  men,  myself  and  three 
others,  to  go  in  and  arrest  him.  Reynolds  remained  in 
the  door  until  he  saw  us  dismount.  He  seemed  to  step 
behind  the  door,  but  in  fact  he  made  a  dash  for  the 
back  door  to  make  his  escape.  I  saw  him  pass  out  and 
gave  the  alarm.  Evans  ordered  the  men  to  follow  and 
commanded  them  not  to  take  him  alive.  I  threw  the 
gate  open  and  the  boys  galloped  into  the  yard.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  Yates  had  ten  acres  of  land  fenced 
off  into  small  lots  about  his  place,  but  they  delayed  us 
only  a  short  time.  The  first  man  to  reach  the  fence 
would  jump  from  his  horse  and  throw  it  down,  the 
remainder  would  ride  forward.  All  this  time  the  boys 
were  shooting  at  the  running  captain  as  fast  as  they 
could  discharge  their  guns  and  reload  them. 

We  had  with  us  a  tall,  swarthy  Kentuckian,  with 
black  hair  and  long  black  whiskers,  whose  name  I  have 
forgotten,  and  who  looked,  in  his  rough  soldier  clothing, 
more  like  a  bear  than  a  man.  He  was  the  first  to  reach 
Reynolds.  As  he  came  up  Reynolds  pulled  a  silver 
mounted  navy  from  his  belt,  but  the  Kentuckian  was 
too  quick  for  him  and  had  a  holster  pointed  at  his  head. 
In  an  instant  Reynolds  dropped  to  his  knees,  threw  up 
his  hands  and  began  to  beg.  The  Kentuckian  disobeyed 
orders  and  took  him  prisoner.  He  said  if  Reynolds 
had  continued  to  show  fight  he  would  have  killed  him, 
but  he  could  not  shoot  a  man  who  was  begging  for  his 
life.  He  brought  the  Captain  backhand,  as  he  was  then 
our  prisoner,  his  life  was  safe,  for  no  man  with  whom  I 
ever  served  ever  mistreated  a  prisoner. 


164  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

When  we  reached  the  house  Reynolds'  wife  and 
the  Yates  family  came  out  begging  and  crying  pitifully 
for  his  life.  We  had  no  time  to  stay  and  argue  or  ex- 
plain. We  feared  the  reports  of  our  guns  had  reached 
the  ears  of  Reynold's  company  and  that  they  would 
come  upon  us  at  any  moment.  Wall  Brinton  told  the 
Captain  he  must  go  with  us,  and  ordered  him  to  get 
behind  him  on  his  horse.  The  captain  did  so  amid  the 
wailing  and  crying  of  the  women  and  we  started  away. 
Reynolds'  wife  said  she  would  go  too,  but  I  told  her 
she  could  not  do  so,  as  we  rode  through  thick  brush,  and 
that  she  could  do  no  good  by  going. 

As  we  rode  along  Reynolds  said  he  feared  we  were 
Bill  Childs  and  his  band  of  bushwhackers,  and  that  if 
Childs  had  found  him  he  would  not  have  been  permit- 
ted to  surrender.  He  expressed  the  fear  also  that  his 
life  would  not  be  safe  even  as  our  prisoner,  if  Childs 
should  fall  in  with  us.  I  assured  him  that  Childs  was 
not  as  bad  as  he  thought  him  to  be,  and  that  he  need 
have  no  fear.  But  even  this  did  not  satisfy  him.  On 
further  inquiry,  I  learned  that  Child's  wife  had  been 
taken  by  the  Union  forces  and  placed  in  jail,  and  that 
Childs  charged  Reynolds  with  responsibility  for  this 
act.  Reynolds'  terror  of  Childs  made  me  believe,  with- 
out knowing  the  facts,  that  the  charge  was  probably 
well  founded. 

Evans  and  I  rode  along  with  Brinton  and  Reynolds 
and  allowed  the  remainder  of  the  boys  to  get  consider- 
ably ahead  of  us  and  completely  out  of  sight.  When 
the  proper  time  came  we  turned  out  of  the  road  into 
the  thick  woods  and  stopped.  Evans  then  told  Rey- 
nolds if  he  would  go  to  St.  Joseph  and  have  John  Utz 
and  Billy  Jones  released  from  prison  and  resign  his 
office  and  go  back  to  his  family  and  stay  there  and  be- 
have himself  we  would  turn  him  loose.  The  Captain 


BACK  INTO  MISSOURI  165 

was  more  than  willing  to  do  all  this.  Evans  then  asked 
him  to  hold  up  his  hand  and  be  sworn.  I  told  Evans 
that  was  not  necessary,  as  I  would  vouch  for  the  good 
conduct  of  the  prisoner.  Evans  then  set  him  free  and  I 
never  saw  a  more  grateful  man  in  my  life.  We  parted 
good  friends  and  I  learned  after  the  war  was  over 
that  Reynolds  kept  his  promise,  except  that  he  was  un- 
able to  secure  the  release  of  Utz  and  Jones,  as  that  was 
out  of  his  power.  In  all  other  things  he  was  faithful. 
I  have  heard  that  he  often  said  to  those  who  wanted 
him  to  return  to  the  service  that  Watt  Gibson  had 
saved  his  life,  and  that  but  for  him  both  his  company 
and  his  family  would  have  been  without  his  services; 
and  that  he  did  not  propose  to  break  the  promise  to 
which  he  owed  his  life. 

When  we  overtook  the  boys  and  they  found  we 
had  released  Reynolds,  it  required  hard  work  to  keep 
them  from  going  back  after  him,  but  we  finally  pre- 
vailed and  the  whole  squad  moved  on  into  Platte  Coun- 
ty. We  camped  about  two  miles  east  of  Camden  Point 
and  remained  a  few  days.  Mose  Cunningham  and  a  man 
by  the  name  of  Linville  joined  us  as  recruits.  During  our 
stay  there  some  of  the  boys  went  over  to  New  Market 
and  spent  a  portion  of  the  time.  The  day  before  we  ex- 
pected to  leave,  Brinton  and  I  went  over  to  Alfred 
Jack's,  as  I  wanted  to  see  his  daughter,  Mollie,  before  I 
left.  We  rode  up  to  the  yard  fence  and  there  in  front 
of  the  house  lay  a  dead  man — a  Federal  soldier.  We 
called  Mr.  Jack  and  asked  him  how  the  man  came  to 
be  there.  He  said  that  some  hours  before  a  party  of 
Union  militia  and  a  few  men  that  he  took  to  be  Con- 
federates had  passed  his  house  shooting  at  each  other, 
but  that  he  did  not  know  anyone  had  been  killed.  This 


166  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

was  the  first  news  we  had  that  the  Federals  were  in  the 
community.  The  skirmish  was  between  some  of  our 
men  and  a  scouting  party  from  the  other  side. 

Mr.  Jack  was  greatly  disturbed  and  feared  that  he 
would  be  accused  of  the  man's  death,  and  thought  of 
leaving  home.  I  told  him  not  to  do  that.  He  was  en- 
tirely innocent  and  the  soldiers  knew  the  man  had  been 
killed  in  the  skirmish.  We  helped  him  carry  the  body 
into  his  yard  and  started  for  camp.  I  knew  the 
news  of  the  fight  would  soon  stir  up  all  the  Federals 
in  the  community,  and,  though  I  missed  seeing  the 
young  lady,  I  was  glad  I  learned  of  the  trouble  in  time 
to  get  back  to  camp.  By  noon  the  roads  everywhere 
west  of  us  were  full  of  soldiers.  We  got  glimpses  of 
them  now  and  then  from  the  hill  on  which  we  were 
camped. 

We  prepared  our  small  camp  equipment  for  travel- 
ing, saddled  our  horses  and  crossed  to  the  east  side  of 
the  Platte.  Here  we  selected  a  good  place  to  be  at- 
tacked and  waited  two  or  three  hours.  Either  they 
could  not  find  us  or  did  not  want  to  find  us,  for  they 
did  not  appear. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  resumed  our  journey  to 
the  south,  and  passed  out  of  Platte  and  through  Clay 
County  without  difficulty.  The  Missouri  River  was 
again  the  great  obstacle,  as  there  were  a  number  of  us 
on  this  trip.  Richfield,  the  point  where  we  had  pre- 
viously crossed,  was  passed  by,  and  we  reached  the 
river  bottom  some  miles  below  that  place,  just  at  night. 
We  cooked  and  ate  supper,  and  about  eight  o'clock 
started  for  the  river,  not  knowing  how  we  would  get 
across.  As  we  passed  through  a  paw-paw  thicket  an 
amusing  incident  occurred.  A  man  called  "halt."  As 
our  horses  were  making  a  great  deal  of  noise  we  did 
not  hear  either  his  first  or  second  call.  He  called  again 


BACK  INTO  MISSOURI  167 

in  a  loud  voice,  "Halt,  third  and  last  time!"  We  stop- 
ped at  once.  He  said,  "Who  are  you?"  Our  lieutenant 
answered,  "Shelby's  men.  Who  are  you?"  "I  am  a 
bushwhacker,  by  G — ."  He  then  asked  if  any  man  in 
our  company  lived  near  this  place.  Our  lieutenant 
answered  that  a  man  with  us  by  the  name  of  Hill  lived 
at  Richmond.  "Tell  him  to  come  forward  and  meet 
me  half  way."  Then  the  bushwhacker  began  calling 
to  his  men  to  fall  in  line.  Hill  went  forward  and  met 
an  old  acquaintance.  Hill  asked  how  many  men  he 
had.  He  said  he  had  none;  that  he  was  alone,  and 
was  just  running  a  bluff  on  us.  When  Hill  and  the 
bushwhacker  came  back  to  us  we  all  had  a  jolly  laugh. 

We  learned  from  him  that  Bill  Anderson,  with 
whom  he  belonged,  was  crossing  the  river  with  his 
band  of  bushwhackers  about  a  mile  below,  and  had 
sent  him  out  as  a  picket.  He  went  down  with  us  and  as- 
sured Anderson  that  we  were  his  friends.  The  night 
was  very  dark.  Anderson  had  forty-five  men  and  one 
small  skiff.  Two  men  besides  the  oarsman  got  into 
the  boat,  each  holding  the  bridle  of  his  horse.  The 
horses  were  then  forced  in,  one  on  each  side,  and  the 
skiff  put  off.  It  was  a  long  swim  for  the  horses  and 
a  long  wait  for  the  skiff's  return,  but  it  was  better  than 
drifting  on  cottonwood  logs,  as  we  had  expected  to 
do.  With  the  boat  we  could  all  land  at  the  same  place. 
Anderson's  men  had  been  crossing  since  early  in  the 
evening  and  by  midnight  all  were  over  and  the  skiff 
delivered  to  us.  The  last  of  our  company  reached  the 
southern  shore  just  at  sun  up,  and  our  long  journey 
seemed  almost  over  with  the  river  behind  us. 

Anderson,  after  crossing,  learned  that  a  Federal 
regiment  was  in  camp  at  Sibley.  He  took  his  forty- 
five  men  and  surprised  them.  They  charged  through 
the  whole  regiment,  yelling  and  shooting,  and  killed, 


168  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

wounded  and  ran  over  about  twenty  of  them  without 
losing  a  man.  Not  satisfied  with  this  they  charged 
back,  and  by  that  time,  the  soldiers  had  collected  their 
senses  and  their  guns.  Anderson  was  killed  and  three 
of  his  men  wounded.  I  have  always  believed  that  An- 
derson and  most  of  his  men  were  half  drunk  that  morn- 
ing. The  wounded  men  were  placed  in  a  tent  in  the 
thick  willows  and  left  to  the  care  of  sympathizing  wom- 
en. Anderson's  death  left  his  men  without  a  leader. 
Forty-one  remained  able  to  go  forward  and  they  joined 
with  our  thirty.  This  made  a  pretty  strong  squad  and 
we  traveled  the  public  roads  in  day  light. 

After  two  days  our  provisions  gave  out  and  we 
separated  into  little  companies  of  from  four  to  six  in 
order  to  get  provisions  and  horse  feed  from  the  resi- 
dents of  the  country  along  the  road,  arranging  in  ad- 
vance to  unite  at  a  given  place.  I  recall  an  incident  of 
this  trip  which  afforded  us  great  amusement.  It  hap- 
pened near  the  north  bank  of  the  Osage  River.  Our 
straggling  parties  had  united  in  order  to  be  together 
at  the  fording  of  the  river,  and  as  we  passed  down  to- 
ward the  river  we  met  a  squad  of  about  ten  militia. 
Neither  party  appeared  to  be  suspicious  of  the  other, 
and  the  militia  really  thought  we  were  a  part  of  their 
own  forces.  We  rode  directly  up  to  them  and  spoke 
very  politely.  Asked  them  where  they  were  going  and 
they  told  us  they  were  going  home.  Said  they  had  been 
after  Price  and  had  driven  the  d — d  old  Rebel  out  of 
Missouri  once  more  and  were  just  getting  home.  We 
then  told  them  we  were  a  part  of  Price's  forces  that 
had  not  been  driven  out,  and  drew  our  navies  on  them. 
It  was  pitiful  to  see  the  expressions  of  terror  that  came 
over  their  faces.  We  made  them  dismount  and  disarm 
themselves.  They  did  so  with  the  greatest  apparent 
willingness.  We  destroyed  their  arms  as  we  had  no 


BACK  INTO  MISSOURI  169 

use  for  them,  and  made  them  swear  a  dreadful  oath 
and  promise  they  would  never  molest  Price  or  any  of 
his  men  again.  When  they  did  this  they  were  ordered 
to  move  on,  and  seemed  greatly  rejoiced  that  their  lives 
had  been  spared.  The  many  bitter  experiences  I  had 
during  the  war  led  me  to  doubt  seriously  whether  we 
would  have  been  as  well  treated  had  we  been  caught 
by  our  enemies  at  as  great  a  disadvantage  as  we  had 
them.  And  some  of  our  men  had  long  been  with  Bill 
Anderson,  about  whom  the  most  dreadful  stories  of 
cruelty  have  been  written — by  men  I  presume  who 
never  dared  to  come  out  of  hiding  and  who  wrote  the 
terrors  of  their  own  cowardly  souls  rather  than  any- 
thing real  or  true. 

It  must  be  understood  that  I  am  not  attempting  a 
defense  of  Anderson  or  his  men  further  than  to  relate 
what  their  conduct  was  while  I  was  with  them.  It  was 
by  chance  only,  in  the  manner  I  have  related,  that  I 
was  thrown  with  these  men  on  this  trip  southward,  and 
though  we  met  a  number  of  returning  squads  of  mili- 
tia in  the  same  way  and  always  had  the  advantage  of 
them,  not  a  man  of  them  was  mistreated  other  than 
to  be  disarmed,  if  that  may  be  called  mistreatment. 
The  situation  may  and  probably  was  different  when 
these  men  were  attacked  or  when  the  enemy  was  cam- 
paigning against  them.  I  have  heard  it  said  that,  under 
such  circumstances,  men  who  encountered  Anderson's 
men  had  to  fight,  run  or  die. 

With  more  or  less  difficulty  and  with  many  hard- 
ships, but  without  any  incident  worth  mentioning,  we 
made  our  way  to  the  Arkansas  River  about  twenty 
miles  below  Fort  Smith.  The  river  was  running  pretty 
full  and  there  was  no  hope  of  finding  a  ferry  without 
encountering  Federal  troops,  so  we  constructed  a  rude 
raft  of  cottonwood  logs,  got  on  it  and  swam  our  horses 


170  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

alongside.  This  occasioned  considerable  delay,  but 
we  got  safely  over  and  made  our  way  to  Red  River, 
where  we  had  much  the  same  experience.  We  reached 
Price  at  Clarksville,  Texas,  and  remained  with  him 
there  until  January. 

At  this  time  Price's  army  was  all  cavalry — just  as 
it  came  off  of  the  raid  into  Missouri — and  consisted  of 
about  five  thousand  men.  Early  in  January  he  moved 
down  on  Red  River  about  fifty  miles  distant  in  order 
to  get  feed  for  his  horses.  Horse  feed  was  scarce  about 
Clarksville,  but  in  Red  River  bottom  the  cane  was 
abundant  and  the  move  was  made  that  the  horses 
might  be  grazed  upon  the  cane.  Price  remained  there 
until  spring  and  was  still  there  when  Lee  surrendered. 
Price  and  his  staff  prepared  to  go  to  Mexico  and  seven 
of  us — Buchanan  and  Platte  County  neighbor  boys — 
saddled  our  horses,  bade  him  goodby  and  started  for 
home. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
Worse  Than  War. 

The  members  of  our  party  were  Bill  and  Jack 
Evans,  Curly  Smith,  Mose  Cunningham  of  Camden 
Point,  and  one  of  his  neighbors,  whose  name  I  do  not 
now  recall,  Wall  Brinton  and  myself.  Our  horses  were 
in  good  condition,  and,  though  the  war  was  over,  we 
supplied  ourselves  well  with  arms  and  ammunition 
and  it  was  well  we  did,  for  in  all  my  experiences,!  never 
suffered  such  hardships  or  came  so  near  losing  my  life 
as  on  this  journey  home  after  the  war  was  over.  We 
traveled  a  long  distance,  as  it  seemed  then,  and  met  with 
no  difficulty  except  lack  of  food.  Homes  in  that  coun- 
try were  few  and  far  between  and  when  we  chanced 
upon  a  house  no  one  was  at  home  but  half  starved, 
ragged  women  and  children.  They  had  little  to  offer 
us  and  lived  themselves  by.  taking  their  dogs  to  the 
woods  and  chasing  game  or  wild  hogs  which  had  gone 
through  the  winter  and  were  unfit  for  food.  They  al- 
ways offered  to  divide,  but  we  did  not  have  the  heart 
to  accept  their  offer,  and  lived  on  such  game  as  we 
could  kill  as  we  traveled  along.  We  always  gave  these 
women  such  encouragement  as  we  could,  told  them 
the  war  was  over  and  they  might  soon  expect  their 
husbands  and  sons  to  return  to  them.  We  did  not  say 
if  they  were  still  alive,  but  we  and  they  sadly  under- 
stood always  that  such  a  condition  might  well  have 
been  added. 

I  do  not  recall  how  we  got  across  the  Arkansas 
River,  but  I  do  remember  that  in  the  heavy  timber  on 
this  side  we  came  upon  nine  men  in  camp  who 
claimed  to  be  "bushwhackers."  They  invited  us  to 


172  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

join  them  and  as  we  were  tired  and  hungry  we  did  so. 
We  rested  the  remainder  of  the  day  and  at  night  they 
told  us  there  was  to  be  a  dance — frolic — in  the  neigh- 
borhood and  invited  us  to  go.  We  did  so  and  witnessed 
a  dance  in  truly  Arkansas  style.  I  took  no  part,  but 
enjoyed  looking  on  at  the  others.  When  we  reached 
camp  late  in  the  night  we  all  spread  our  blankets  down 
around  the  fire  and  slept,  feeling  the  greatest  security. 
Next  morning  three  of  their  men  and  three  of  our 
horses  were  gone.  We  said  nothing,  but  cooked  and 
ate  our  breakfasts  and  went  back  to  the  cane-brake  to 
make  further  search  for  the  horses.  We  hunted  until 
noon,  but  could  not  find  them.  We  returned  to  the 
camp  where  the  six  remaining  members  of  the  party 
were  and  got  dinner.  After  dinner  at  a  given  signal 
we  drew  our  navies  and  made  them  disarm,  which  they 
did  with  much  more  haste  than  "bushwhackers"  would 
have  done.  We  then  asked  them  to  tell  where  our 
horses  were.  Three  of  the  six  proved  to  be  really  our 
friends  and  knew  nothing  about  the  horses.  The  other 
three  were  in  with  the  men  who  had  gone.  The  missing 
horses  belonged  to  Mose  Cunningham,  Wall  Brinton 
and  myself.  They  told  us  various  stories.  One  said 
that  my  horse  had  been  taken  by  the  son  of  a  widow 
woman  who  lived  seven  miles  east.  Others  said  the 
horses  had  been  taken  to  Fort  Smith,  twenty  miles 
west.  We  settled  the  matter  by  saddling  three  of  their 
horses  and  riding  away.  We  rode  the  remainder  of 
the  day  and  until  two  o'clock  in  the  night  without  any- 
thing to  eat.  About  this  hour  we  came  upon  a  house 
and  roused  the  inmates  and  told  them  we  must  have 
provisions.  We  got  a  ham,  some  flour,  sugar  and 
coffee  and  started  on.  By  nine  o'clock  next  morning 
we  had  gotten  far  up  into  the  rugged,  mountainous 
country  where  it  seemed  safe  to  stop.  We  dismounted 


WORSE  THAN  WAR  173 

and  cooked  breakfast,  but  took  the  precaution  to  send 
two  men  back  on  the  mountain  to  keep  watch.  I  had 
eaten  my  breakfast,  saddled  my  horse  and  was  ready 
to  go.  The  other  boys  were  taking  more  time.  I  re- 
minded them  that  we  might  be  followed  and  that  they 
had  better  make  haste.  I  had  scarcely  uttered  the 
words  when  the  boys  on  the  lookout  came  running 
down  the  mountain  and  before  they  reached  the  camp 
a  company  of  soldiers  appeared  at  the  crest.  They 
commenced  throwing  hot  lead  down  at  us,  and  we  re- 
turned it  and  kept  it  up  until  the  boys  got  into  camp 
and  grabbed  up  a  handful  of  provisions.  I  made  a 
breastworks  of  my  horse  and  stood  and  shot  across 
my  saddle  until  the  horse  fell  at  my  feet.  By  that  time 
our  guns  were  empty,  and  without  time  to  reload  we  ran 
to  the  mountains,  leaving  everything  but  our  guns  and 
the  clothes  upon  our  backs. 

It  was  disheartening  to  think  that,  tired  and  hun- 
gry as  we  were,  we  could  not  have  peace  long  enough 
to  cook  and  eat  the  poor  provisions  secured  at  the  farm 
house  the  night  before,  and  it  was  still  more  disheart- 
ening to  reflect  upon  where  the  next  meal  was  to  be 
found.  In  spite  of  this  we  still  had  much  to  be  thank- 
ful for.  Although  left  on  foot  and  without  provisions, 
we  still  had  our  lives  and  plenty  of  powder  and  lead, 
and,  in  those  days  when  human  life  was  so  cheap, 
these  were  our  greatest  concern. 

The  party  attacking  did  not  follow  us  into  the 
brush  on  the  mountain  side.  We  had  all  the  advantage 
there  and  were  desperate  enough  to  have  used  it  to 
any  extent  and  without  much  conscience,  had  occa- 
sion required.  Our  little  party  was  scattered,  each 
man  taking  care  of  himself.  Some  kept  moving  up  the 
mountain  while  some  crouched  like  hunted  quails  in 
what  appeared  to  be  safe  hiding  places.  In  a  little 


174  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

while  our  pursuers  gathered  up  our  horses  and  the 
fragments  of  provisions  we  had  left  and  started  away. 
After  a  long  wait  the  boys  began  to  signal  each  other 
and  shortly  we  were  united. 

It  was  a  long  and  weary  trudge  to  Fayetteville. 
We  were  compelled  to  keep  near  the  main  traveled 
road,  (which  was  little  better  than  a  bridle  path), 
because  the  country  was  so  rough  and  the  timber  so 
heavy  that  we  feared  we  might  lose  our  way.  Our  only 
food  was  the  game  we  killed — squirrels  and  wild  tur- 
key and  now  and  then  a  deer.  This  we  dressed  and 
broiled  over  a  camp  fire  and  ate  without  bread  or  salt. 
Hard  as  this  method  of  subsistence  was,  it  had  at  least 
one  advantage  over  an  army  march — we  had  plenty 
of  time.  The  bare  ground  had  been  our  resting  place 
so  long  that  we  were  quite  accustomed  to  it,  and  even, 
without  the  luxury  of  a  blanket,  we  slept  and  rested 
much. 

At  Fayetteville  we  got  the  first  square  meal  since 
leaving  the  camp  on  the  Arkansas  River,  and,  as  it  was 
by  no  means  safe  to  remain  there,  we  secured  such 
provisions  as  we  could  carry,  and  started  on,  still  on 
foot.  Above  Fayetteville  the  country  became  less 
mountainous  and,  although  we  always  slept  in  the  tim- 
ber, we  found  little  trouble  in  securing  food.  We 
crossed  Cowskin  River  and  made  our  way  to  Granby, 
where  the  lead  mines  were  located.  In  a  little  valley 
shortly  out  of  Granby  we  found  a  drove  of  poor,  thin 
horses.  They  had  fared  badly  during  the  winter,  but 
looked  as  though  they  might  be  able  to  help  us  along 
somewhat,  so  we  peeled  hickory  bark  and  made  halt- 
ers and  each  man  caught  himself  a  horse.  We  had  not 
gone  far  when  we  discovered  that  riding  barebacked 


WORSE  THAN  WAR  175 

on  the  skeleton  of  a  horse  was  a  poor  substitute  for 
walking,  so  we  turned  our  horses  loose  and  continued 
the  journey  on  foot. 

Johnstown,  a  small  town  in  Bates  County,  is  the 
next  point,  I  remember  distinctly.  A  company  of  mili- 
tia was  stationed  there  and  all  the  people  in  the  coun- 
try round-about  were  colonized  in  and  near  the  town. 
Although  we  knew  the  militia  were  there,  we  took  our 
chances  on  going  quite  near  the  town,  for  we  were  com- 
pelled to  have  food.  Late  in  the  afternoon  we  stopped 
at  a  house  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  and  found  the 
man  and  his  family  at  home.  The  man  belonged  to 
the  militia  company,  so  we  held  him  until  the  family 
cooked  supper  for  us.  After  we  had  eaten  we  started 
on,  taking  the  man  with  us  to  prevent  him  from  report- 
ing on  us,  advising  his  family  at  the  same  time  that  if 
we  were  pursued  it  would  be  because  some  of  them 
had  informed  on  us  and  in  that  event  the  man  would 
never  return.  They  were  glad  enough  to  promise  any- 
thing that  would  give  them  hope  of  his  return,  and  we 
felt  quite  sure  we  would  not  be  discovered  from  that 
source. 

We  left  the  house  between  five  and  six  o'clock  and 
had  not  gone  far  when  we  saw  three  militia  men  who 
had  been  out  on  a  scout,  riding  toward  us.  When  they 
came  within  a  hundred  yards  or  so  the  leader  called 
on  us  to  halt.  He  asked,  "Who  are  you?"  Wall  Brinton 
replied,  but  I  do  not  recall  what  he  said.  The  leader 
evidently  did  not  believe  him  for  he  replied  by  telling 
us  to  consider  ourselves  under  arrest.  This  was,  under 
our  circumstances,  equivalent  to  opening  hostilities, 
so  we  replied  with  our  navies.  One  horse  fell  with  the 
man  on  him.  The  other  two  hastily  assisted  the  rider  to 
mount  behind  one  of  them.  They  galloped  back  and 
took  another  road  toward  the  town.  We  hurried  on  to 


176  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

a  thick  grove  of  timber  some  distance  ahead  where 
we  could  secure  protection  against  the  attack  that  we 
felt  sure  would  later  be  made  upon  us.  As  the  news 
of  our  presence  had  now  gone  back  to  headquarters, 
our  prisoner  could  be  of  no  more  service,  so  we  turned 
him  loose.  We  reached  the  timber  and  waited  and 
watched,  but,  for  some  reason,  no  attempt  was  made  to 
capture  us.  Darkness  soon  came  on  and  we  lost  no 
time  in  making  our  escape.  At  daylight  next  morning 
we  were  at  Little  Grand  River,  fifteen  miles  north. 

Shortly  after  we  left  our  hiding  place  in  the  tim- 
ber near  Johnstown,  it  began  to  rain  and  rained  on  us 
all  night  long  as  we  journeyed.  Little  Grand  River 
was  running  nearly  bank  full,  but  we  had  to  cross.  We 
made  a  raft  by  binding  logs  together  with  hickory  bark, 
placed  the  guns  and  clothing  upon  it  and  pushed  out, 
each  man  holding  on  at  the  rear,  swimming  arid  push- 
ing. We  were  soon  across  and  as  it  seemed  to  be  a 
wild,  uninhabited  spot,  we  built  a  fire  and  warmed  our- 
selves and  dried  our  clothing,  and  all  got  a  little  sleep, 
one  man  always  standing  guard.  About  ten  o'clock  I 
grew  restless  and  uneasy  and  awakened  the  boys  and 
told  them  we  had  better  move  on,  as  that  company  of 
militia  might  start  early  in  the  morning  to  follow  us 
and,  if  they  did  so,  they  might  be  expected  to  appear  at 
any  time.  Wall  Brinton,  our  captain,  agreed  to  this 
and  we  made  another  start,  although  some  of  the 
boys  opposed  it  and  said  we  had  as  well  be  killed  as 
run  ourselves  to  death. 

We  traveled  westwardly,  up  the  river,  about  two 
miles  and  then  north  to  the  bluffs  where  we  found 
what  appeared  to  be  sufficient  protection  in  the  timber 
and  hills  to  warrant  a  stop  for  further  rest.  It  was  a 
beautiful  day  after  the  rain  the  night  before  and  we  lay 


WORSE  THAN  WAR  177 

in  the  warm  sunshine  and  slept  as  well  as  hungry  men 
could  sleep.  We  peeled  slippery  elm  bark  and  ate  it, 
but  it  did  little  to  satisfy  our  hunger. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Curly  Smith,  Wall  Brin- 
ton  and  I  were  chewing  upon  our  elm  bark  and  six  of 
our  boys  were  fast  asleep,  when  a  company  of  soldiers 
rode  up  in  twenty  yards  of  us  before  we  saw  them. 
Smith  saw  them  first  and  said  to  me,  "Who  is  that?" 
I  sprang  to  my  feet,  turning  around  as  I  did  so.  I  knew 
them  at  a  glance  and  knew  also  that  we  were  in 
trouble.  There  was  no  time  to  plan — no  time  even  to 
run — and  six  of  the  nine  of  us  fast  asleep.  My  first 
thought  was  to  wake  the  boys  so  I  called  out  at  the  top 
of  my  voice,  "Who  are  you?"  They  gave  no  answer, 
but  opened  fire  upon  us.  Brinton,  Smith  and  I  each 
took  a  tree  and  let  them  come  on.  It  was  a  desperate 
situation  and  every  load  in  the  brace  of  six-shooters 
we  carried  must  be  made  to  count.  When  they  were 
close  enough  for  our  work  to  be  effective,  we  began 
on  them.  From  the  way  they  dropped  out  of  their  sad- 
dles I  am  sure  very  few  of  our  bullets  went  astray. 
The  captain  kept  urging  his  men  on,  calling  "Give  them 
hell,  boys!"  and  we  kept  busy.  The  captain  himself 
galloped  up  within  two  rods  of  me,  threw  his  saber 
around  his  head  and  ordered  me  to  surrender.  I  had, 
as  I  thought,  just  one  shot  left.  I  put  it  through  his 
heart.  I  saw  it  twist,  as  it  seemed,  through  his  coat,  and 
I  shall  never  forget  the  writhing  of  his  body  and  the 
dreadful  frown  as  he  fell  from  his  horse.  Most  of  them 
who  were  left  had  now  exhausted  the  loads  in  their 
guns,  and  when  they  saw  their  captain  fall  re- 
treated. We  whirled  and  ran  with  all  our  might. 
The  boys  who  had  been  asleep  were  gone.  They 
had  awakened  and  started  at  the  first  volley. 
A  short  run  brought  us  in  sight  of  the  other  boys 


178  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

who  were  at  the  moment  trying  to  pass  around  a 
long,  narrow  slough,  which  lay  between  them 
and  timber  on  the  other  side.  Brinton's  right  arm  was 
broken  between  the  wrist  and  elbow.  He  had  received 
the  wound  as  he  threw  his  arm  from  behind  the  tree 
to  shoot.  It  was  bleeding  badly,  but  we  kept  running 
and  calling  to  our  companions  to  turn  and  fight.  They 
paid  no  attention  to  us,  but  kept  on  around  the 
slough.  During  this  time  the  men  who  attacked  us 
had  rallied  and  were  riding  down  upon  us.  Brinton 
kept  calling  and  urging  the  boys  to  turn  and  fight,  and 
finally  as  our  pursuers  drew  closer  they  turned  and 
fired,  and  this  checked  the  men  who  were  after  us  for 
a  moment.  By  this  time  poor  Wall  had  grown  weak  and 
sick  from  loss  of  blood  and  could  go  no  farther.  We 
had  been  running  side  by  side.  The  last  words  he  said 
to  me  were,  "I  am  sick,  I  can't  go  on.  I  will  have  to 
surrender.  Make  your  escape  if  you  can."  Such  a  thing 
seemed  impossible  at  the  moment,  but  I  feared  nothing 
so  much  as  the  "mercy"  of  the  men  who  were  after 
us.  Wall  threw  up  his  well  arm  and  I  ran  as  fast  as  I 
could  toward  the  slough  or  lake  and  plunged  right  in. 
The  brush  and  vines  on  the  other  side  were  my  only 
hope,  aside  from  the  discovery  I  made  as  I  ran  that 
I  had  one  more  load  in  my  navy.  Our  enemies,  ex- 
cept one  man,  took  after  the  boys  who  were  running 
around  the  lake.  As  I  waded  in  water  nearly  waist  deep 
the  man  who  had  followed  me  rode  up  to  the  edge  of 
the  lake  and  ordered  me  to  halt.  I  paid  no  attention 
to  him  but  waded  on,  watching  him  all  the  time.  He 
rode  out  into  the  water,  raised  his  gun  as  if  to  shoot 
and  called  the  second  time.  I  stopped  and  turned  and 
leveled  the  muzzle  of  my  navy  at  his  belt  and  fired. 
He  fell  off  his  horse  into  the  water.  When  I  got  across 
I  looked  back  and  saw  him  struggling  to  keep  his  head 


WORSE  THAN  WAR  179 

out  of  the  water.  I  do  not  know  what  became  of  him. 
I  foresaw  when  he  came  up  and  rode  into  the  lake  that 
he  or  I  would  be  doing  that  very  thing,  and  I  felt 
that  the  chance  load  left  in  my  navy  was,  as  it  proved 
to  be,  my  only  protection  against  it.  The  fight  was  still 
going  on  up  the  lake.  I  looked  and  saw  Jack  Evans 
down  in  the  water  and  heard  him  calling  for  help. 
The  other  boys  were  just  wading  out.  I  ran  to  them 
and  as  I  came  up  I  saw  blood  streaming  from  the  leg 
of  one  of  the  men.  He  had  been  shot  in  the  thigh,  but 
was  still  able  to  walk. 

We  soon  got  out  of  sight  in  the  thick  brush  and 
they  did  not  follow  us.  Including  the  man  who  re- 
mained with  us,  four  of  our  men  had  been  wounded  in 
the  fight.  Three  of  them,  Wall  Brinton,  Jack  Evans 
and  one  of  the  Platte  County  boys,  were  compelled  to 
surrender,  and  we  learned  that  all  of  them,  wounded 
prisoners  though  they  were,  were  shot  in  cold  blood. 
We  never  knew  how  many  of  their  men  were  killed 
and  wounded. 

We  hurried  on  through  the  brush  back  toward  the 
river,  and  when  we  reached  it  we  found  a  log  for  our 
wounded  man  and  all  swam  across  to  the  south  side. 
After  traveling  a  few  miles  down  the  river  we  crossed 
in  the  same  manner  and  made  directly  north.  Just 
before  dark  we  came  to  an  abandoned  log  house  and 
stopped.  We  were  in  a  pitiable  condition.  No  food 
since  the  night  before,  tired  and  wet,  depressed  in 
spirits  by  the  loss  of  our  comrades,  whom  we  knew  had 
already  been  killed,  and  with  a  wounded  man  upon 
our  hands.  To  remain  there  so  close  to  the  men  who 
were  after  us  meant  that  we  would  be  captured  and 
killed. 

We  talked  the  matter  over.  The  wounded  man, 
whose  name  I  do  not  recall,  in  company  with  his 


180  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

brother,  fell  in  with  us  at  the  Arkansas  River.  He  was 
so  weak  and  was  suffering  so  much  that  he  could  go 
no  farther,  so  he  and  his  brother  decided  to  remain  at 
the  cabin  through  the  night  and  trust  to  the  mercy  of 
some  one  whom  they  might  find  next  day  to  give  them 
assistance  and  shield  them  from  the  soldiers  who  had 
pursued  us  from  Johnstown.  They  agreed  that  the 
four  of  us  who  were  uninjured  would  not  be  so  apt  to 
secure  sympathy  and  that  we  had  better  move  on. 

It  was  a  sad  farewell  that  we  bade  our  wounded 
companion  and  his  brother  that  night,  and  it  was,  for 
me  at  least,  a  farewell  indeed,  for  I  have  never  seen  or 
heard  from  them  since,  but  it  seemed  the  best  and  only 
thing  that  could  be  done.  As  soon  as  it  was  dark  we 
started  and  traveled  all  night,  though  very  slowly,  and 
until  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following.  At  that 
time  we  came  near  a  small  place,  the  name  of  which  I 
do  not  now  remember.  We  went  up  close  to  the  town 
and  stopped  at  a  house.  Two  men  in  blue  clothes  were 
there  with  the  family  and  we  immediately  took  charge 
of  them  and  ordered  supper.  They  prepared  a  splen- 
did meal  for  us  and  we  ate  it  as  only  men  can  eat  who 
have  gone  forty-eight  hours  without  food.  It  was  a 
cool  evening  and  they  had  a  small  fire  in  an  old- 
fashioned  fire-place.  After  supper  we  asked  them  to 
spread  some  bed  clothes  before  the  fire  and  three  of 
us  lay  down  and  slept  while  the  fourth  stood  guard 
over  the  men.  We  took  turns  standing  guard  through 
the  night  and  next  morning  ordered  an  early  break- 
fast and  left  as  soon  as  it  was  daylight. 

We  started  north,  and  as  soon  as  we  got  out  of 
sight  of  the  house  turned  east  a  short  distance  and 
then  went  back  south  about  a  mile  to  a  high  knoll 
covered  with  black  jack.  We  lay  there  all  day  and 
watched  the  maneuvers  of  the  blue  coats.  They 


WORSE  THAN  WAR  181 

scoured  the  country  to  the  north  far  and  near,  but 
never  approached  the  knoll  on  which  we  were  hidden. 
We  had  a  fine  rest  after  our  two  good  meals,  and  we 
needed  it  following  the  events  of  the  past  two  days. 
When  night  came  and  everything  got  still  we  came 
down  and  went  to  the  same  house  for  supper.  The 
men  had  not  returned  from  hunting  us,  and  the  women 
were  much  surprised  to  see  us.  They  gave  us  a  good 
supper  and  we  bade  them  goodby  and  started  north, 
listening  all  the  time  for  approaching  horses  from 
either  direction.  We  had  no  difficulty,  and  by  morn- 
ing were  well  out  of  the  way. 

The  next  place  I  remember  was  in  Jackson 
County  near  Independence.  As  we  were  worn  out, 
ragged  and  almost  barefooted,  and  as  the  war  was  over, 
we  decided  to  see  the  provost  marshal  and  get  a  pass 
on  which  we  could  travel  on  to  our  homes  in  safety.  I 
went  to  a  good  Union  man's  house  and  told  him  what  I 
wanted.  He  promised  to  see  the  marshal  for  me,  and 
I  directed  him  where  to  find  us.  Upon  his  return  he 
said  the  pass  would  be  provided.  Next  morning  they 
sent  a  small  company  of  soldiers  out  and  we  saw  that 
we  had  been  deceived.  They  looked  us  over  carefully 
and  talked  pretty  saucy,  but  did  not  harm  us.  We 
looked  so  shabby  that  they  evidently  thought  we  did 
not  amount  to  much.  They  put  us  in  a  two-horse 
wagon  and  took  us  to  Warrensburg,  forty  miles  far- 
ther from  home.  There  we  were  placed  in  a  guard- 
house where  we  were  kept  two  or  three  days,  without 
telling  us  what  their  plans  were.  One  morning  a 
guard  came  and  took  one  of  our  men — a  mere  boy- 
down  to  headquarters  and  quizzed  him  to  find  out  if 
he  knew  anything  about  the  fight  on  Little  Grand 
River.  He  denied  it.  Then  they  came  and  got  one  of 
the  other  boys,  but  he  managed  also  to  convince  them 


182  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

that  we  had  been  together — just  the  four  of  us — since 
we  left  the  south.  This  seemed  to  satisfy  them  for  they 
did  not  call  on  me,  but  we  were  not  released. 

The  day  following  a  guard  came  and  marched  us 
out  to  the  edge  of  town  and  set  us  to  work  hoeing  in  a 
garden,  with  a  negro  woman  for  a  boss.  I  called  her 
"aunty,"  and  cut  up  as  many  beans  and  peas  as  I  did 
weeds.  I  kept  my  "boss"  busy  showing  me  how,  and 
she  got  precious  little  work  out  of  me.  I  began  to  sus- 
pect they  were  trying  to  connect  us  with  the  Grand 
River  affair,  and  feared  they  might  get  some  one  who 
would  identify  us  or  pretend  to  do  so,  and  I  did  not  like 
the  prospect,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  I  would  leave  them 
some  how  and  go  home  without  a  pass.  The  guard- 
house was  a  brick  building  that  had  been  a  dwelling. 
A  water  tank  stood  out  in  the  yard  and  the  prisoners 
all  went  there  for  water.  Four  men  stood  guard  day 
and  night,  and  it  was  customary  at  six  o'clock  to  turn 
the  men  in  and  lock  them  up.  On  the  evening  that  I 
decided  to  escape  I  managed  to  hide  in  a  pile  of  lumber 
that  lay  in  the  yard  near  the  water  tank,  and  when 
the  guards  put  the  men  in  and  locked  the  doors  they  did 
not  miss  me.  I  lay  very  still  until  late  at  night.  I 
could  hear  the  guard  pass  on  his  beat  and  by  the  time 
required  to  pass  me  and  return  I  could  judge  the 
length  of  his  heat.  When  I  thought  it  safe  to  make  my 
dash  I  watched  and  after  he  had  passed  south,  I  waited 
until  he  had  gone,  as  well  as  I  could  estimate,  to  the 
end  of  his  beat,  then  I  leaped  across  his  path  so  quickly 
that  he  did  not  have  time  to  think,  much  less  shoot.  I 
ran  down  a  dark  alley  and  had  no  trouble  in  reaching 
the  outskirts  of  the  town.  I  took  across  the  fields,  not 
knowing  where  I  was  going,  nor  caring  much,  just  so 
I  was  getting  away.  I  had  been  gone  but  a  little  while 
when  I  heard  the  town  bell  ring  and  knew  the  alarm 


WORSE  THAN  WAR  183 

had  been  turned  in.  Then  I  heard  horses  galloping  out, 
as  I  supposed,  on  every  road  from  town.  I  heard  the 
horses  gallop  across  a  bridge  some  distance  from  town, 
and  concluded  I  would  cross  no  bridges  that  night.  I 
moved  cautiously  on,  and  by  and  by  came  to  a  creek 
somewhat  in  the  direction  I  had  heard  horses  cross  the 
bridge.  I  followed  the  creek,  watching  all  the  time  for 
bridges  and  after  a  while  came  to  a  foot-log.  I  crossed 
and  made  my  way  out  of  the  thick  brush  and  stopped 
to  get  my  bearings.  It  was  a  starlight  night.  I  located  the 
north  star  and  took  it  for  my  guide  and  traveled  all 
night. 

When  daylight  came  I  found  myself  in  a  creek  bot- 
tom and  in  a  body  of  very  large  timber.  I  found  a 
large,  hollow  sycamore  with  a  hole  in  the  side  reaching 
down  to  the  ground  large  enough  to  admit  me.  I  sat 
back  into  that  tree  to  get  a  little  rest  and  possibly  a 
little  sleep.  I  watched  and  listened.  A  good  while  af- 
ter sun  up  I  saw  a  man  going  with  a  yoke  of  cattle  to- 
ward a  field,  which  I  could  see  through  the  timber,  to 
plow.  Two  big,  savage  looking  dogs  were  following 
him.  The  dogs  raised  their  heads  and  came  toward 
me  as  though  they  scented  me  and  I  made  sure  I  would 
be  discovered,  but  they  turned  in  another  direction  be- 
fore they  got  very  near  and  did  not  disturb  me.  I  sat 
there  all  day  and,  in  spite  of  my  hunger,  slept  and  rest- 
ed. When  night  came  I  made  another  start  as  soon  as 
I  could  see  the  north  star.  I  traveled  all  night  and  when 
morning  came  I  still  had  but  little  idea  where  I  was. 
I  went  up  on  a  high  hill  which  was  covered  with  brush 
and  from  which  I  could  see  all  about  me.  Everything 
was  quiet,  so  I  lay  down  and  slept.  I  awoke  about  ten 
o'clock  and  saw  a  stage-coach  loaded  with  passengers 
passing  along  a  road  below  me.  This  was  the  first  in- 
formation I  had  that  I  was  near  a  public  road.  I  re- 


184  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

mained  in  the  brush  awhile  and  then  decided  to  move 
along  cautiously  by  daylight.  I  saw  a  house  now  and 
then  and,  though  terribly  hungry,  I  did  not  dare  ap- 
proach it  and  ask  for  food.  Toward  night  I  reached  the 
rugged  hills,  from  which  I  judged  I  must  be  near  the 
Missouri  River.  Just  before  dark  I  found  an  empty  to- 
bacco barn  and  crawled  into  it  and  remained  through- 
out the  night.  This  was  the  third  night  with  two  days 
intervening — sixty  hours — in  which  I  had  not  tasted 
food,  and  I  was  worn  out  with  my  long  tramp  besides. 

I  did  not  sleep  well  that  night.  My  accommoda- 
tions were  very  poor  and  my  gnawing  appetite,  made 
me  wakeful.  I  had  one  comfort,  however,  I  was  well 
hidden,  and  this  reflection  rewarded  me  for  much  of 
my  suffering.  Since  this  trip  home  I  have  had  a  warm 
sympathy  for  all  hunted  beasts. 

When  day  began  to  dawn  I  commenced  observing 
my  situation  -without.  I  saw  a  house  near  by  and 
watched  it  for  an  hour.  I  could  only  see  two  women, 
and  from  the  way  they  attended  the  work  outside  as 
well  as  in  the  house,  I  concluded  there  were  no  men 
about  the  place  and  that  it  would  be  safe  for  me  to 
venture  up  and  ask  for  something  to  eat,  and,  if  I  got 
into  trouble,  trust  my  legs,  the  only  weapons  I  had,  to 
get  me  out.  I  went  up  cautiously  and  found  what  I 
could  not  discover  from  my  hiding  place,  that  one  was 
an  old  lady  and  the  other  a  girl  just  grown.  I  spoke  to 
the  old  lady  and  told  her  my  famished  condition.  She 
said  she  was  sorry  for  me,  but  she  had  orders  to  feed 
nobody  on  either  side  and  that  she  could  not  disobey 
them  without  getting  into  trouble  herself.  I  told  her  the 
war  was  over  and  that  I  was  trying  to  get  home.  I  had 
tried  to  quit  fighting  when  I  left  Price  on  Red  River, 
but  had  had  greater  difficulty  in  keeping  myself  from 
being  killed  since  I  quit  fighting  than  before.  She  still 


WORSE  THAN  WAR  185 

refused  to  give  me  anything.  Finally,  my  entreaties  won 
the  girl.  She  spoke  up  and  said,  "Mother,  I  have  made 
no  promises.  You  have  kept  your  promise  and  have 
refused  him  food.  I  will  give  him  something  to  eat." 
With  that  she  told  me  to  draw  my  chair  to  the  table  and 
she  began  to  set  such  a  meal  before  me  as  I  had  not 
tasted  in  years,  it  seemed.  Cold  boiled  ham,  light 
bread,  milk  and  butter,  preserves,  honey,  cake  and  pie 
—plenty  of  all,  and  rations  I  had  not  heard  of  in 
months.  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  how  ravenously 
I  ate.  I  was  probably  as  shabby  looking  a  mortal  as 
ever  sat  down  to  a  meal  at  a  civilized  table.  My  hair 
and  beard  were  long  and  had  not  been  combed  for 
days.  I  had  not  washed  my  face  since  I  escaped  from 
the  guard-house.  My  clothes — what  was  left  of  them— 
were,  with  walking  through  mud  and  rain,  wading 
lakes  and  sloughs  and  swimming  rivers,  soiled  and 
grimy  beyond  description.  When  I  had  finished  eating 
the  girl  asked  me  if  I  would  take  a  lunch  along  with 
me.  Of  course  I  told  her  I  would,  and  that  I  would  al- 
ways be  grateful  to  her,  and  I  have  kept  my  promise.  I 
have  many  times  remembered  that  kindness  and 
thanked  that  young  lady  over  and  over  a  thousand 
times  in  my  heart. 

I  took  my  package  and  bade  the  girl  and  her 
mother  goodby  and  started  for  the  woods.  I  soon 
reached  level  ground  and  heavy  timber  and  knew  I 
was  in  the  river  bottom.  I  went  cautiously  along  until 
I  saw  the  river  in  the  distance.  Then  I  selected  a  good 
shade  and  lay  down  and  had  a  fine  rest  after  my  good 
meal.  I  awoke  some  time  along  in  the  afternoon. 
Everything  was  quiet — no  sound  of  human  foot  or 
voice.  I  ate  my  lunch  and  went  down  to  the  river  bank 
to  select  a  good  crossing  place.  I  found  a  place  that 
suited  me.  Then  I  prepared  three  logs  and  brought 


186  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

them  to  the  water's  edge  and  tied  them  firmly  together 
with  hickory  bark  which  I  peeled  from  the  saplings 
near  by.  I  found  in  a  drift  close  at  hand  a  clap-board 
suitable  for  an  oar,  and  my  craft  was  ready  to  sail. 
I  might  have  made  the  crossing  in  daylight  without 
being  molested,  but,  not  knowing  what  I  might  encoun- 
ter on  the  other  shore,  I  decided  to  wait  for  night. 

As  soon  as  it  began  to  grow  dark  I  went  down  and 
pushed  my  raft  into  the  water  and  tied  it  to  the  root 
of  a  tree.  I  then  got  astride  of  it  with  feet  and  legs  up 
to  the  knees  in  the  water  to  see  if  it  would  bear  my 
weight.  It  appeared  to  be  sufficiently  strong,  so  with 
my  clap-board  in  my  hand  I  cut  loose.  The  current 
caught  me  and  took  me  rapidly  down  stream,  but 
I  was  sure  if  I  kept  using  my  paddle  it  would  have  suf- 
ficient effect  to  land  me  on  the  other  side  some  time.  It 
soon  grew  very  dark,  so  that  I  could  not  see  the  shore 
on  either  side,  and  I  could  not  tell  I  was  moving  ex- 
cept by  the  water  running  past  my  feet  and  legs.  After 
what  seemed  a  very  long  time,  and  after  I  had  grown 
very  tired  both  with  my  labor  and  my  position  on  the 
raft,  I  felt  my  feet  strike  the  sand.  I  got  up  and  towed 
the  raft  to  shore  and  pulled  it  up  on  dry  land.  Then  I 
took  a  rest  and  planned.  I  might  be  on  an  island 
and  in  that  case  I  would  have  further  need  for  my  raft. 
I  could  only  ascertain  my  position  by  investigating,  so 
when  sufficiently  rested  I  started  on  across  the  land, 
breaking  the  top  of  a  bush  every  few  steps  to  guide  me 
back  in  case  I  should  find  myself  upon  an  island.  I 
soon  came  to  a  slough  which  I  waded  without  difficulty 
and  passed  on.  A  little  farther  on  I  came  to  another 
slough,  which  I  also  waded.  The  ground  under  my 
feet  seemed  to  grow  firmer  as  I  walked  away  from  this 
slough.  I  passed  into  a  body  of  good  sized  timber  and 
finally  I  came  to  a  wagon  road,  and  I  knew  then  that  I 


WORSE  THAN  WAR  187 

was  on  the  main  land  and  the  Missouri  River  which  had 
given  me  so  much  trouble  during  the  four  preceding 
years  was  again  behind  me.  My  little  raft  might  rest 
and  I  should  have  no  need  to  retrace  my  steps  by  the 
broken  bushes. 

I  had  no  idea  what  time  of  night  it  was.  I  was 
tired  and  wet,  but  with  all  that,  felt  much  better  than 
on  the  preceding  night  when  so  hungry.  I  thought  it 
must  be  twenty  miles  or  more  to  where  my  sister  lived 
in  the  northeast  portion  of  Clay  County,  so  I  again  took 
the  north  star  for  my  guide  and  set  out,  bearing  west 
somewhat  when  I  found  traveling  that  way  agreeable, 
but  never  east.  I  paid  no  attention  to  roads  unless  they 
led  in  my  direction.  When  daylight  came  I  was  at  a  loss 
to  know  where  I  was.  I  saw  a  house  in  the  distance  and 
went  up  near  it.  No  one  was  up,  so  I  sat  down  to  wait.  In 
a  little  while  a  girl  came  out  to  a  wood  pile  and  began 
picking  up  chips.  I  went  up  and  asked  her  how  far  it 
was  to  Greenville.  She  said  one  mile.  I  asked  her  which 
direction  and  she  pointed  east.  I  thanked  her  and  start- 
ed in  the  direction  she  pointed.  I  was  no  sooner  out  of 
sight  than  I  turned  my  course  due  north,  for  I  was  then 
in  less  than  two  miles  of  my  sister's  home.  I  arrived 
shortly  after  sun  up,  and  as  I  went  into  her  house  and 
sat  down  to  a  good  breakfast,  I  felt  that  my  troubles 
ought  to  be  fairly  over,  now  that  the  war  had  closed; 
but  my  terrible  experiences  on  the  way  home  caused 
me  to  doubt  whether  I  could  go  back  and  live  in  peace, 
even  if  there  was  no  war. 

I  remained  with  my  sister  a  day  or  two,  never 
showing  myself  in  daylight,  for  I  learned  from  her 
that  now  since  fear  of  southern  soldiers  was  over,  all 
those  who  were  too  cowardly  to  go  to  the  front  but  had 
remained  at  home  and  robbed  and  harassed  old  men 
and  women  and  children,  were  giving  the  community 


188  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

more  trouble  than  at  any  time  during  the  war.  They 
were  all  very  brave  then  and  organized  companies  and 
marched  and  drilled  and  galloped  over  the  roads,  seek- 
ing all  manner  of  pretenses  to  rob  and  kill  those  who 
had  sympathized  with  the  south.  Returning  Confeder- 
ate soldiers,  were,  in  those  first  days  after  the  close  of 
the  war,  in  greater  danger  than  when  in  the  front  of  bat- 
tle, as  my  own  recent  experience  had  shown,  and  I  was 
not  alone,  for  my  sister  told  me  of  a  number  of  soldiers 
who  had  returned  from  the  south  only  to  be  killed  after 
reaching  home. 

I  was  sure  I  would  find  much  the  same  condition  in 
Buchanan  County  that  I  had  encountered  all  along  my 
route  home,  and  I  did  not  like  the  prospect  that  lay  be- 
fore me. 

I  learned  from  my  sister  that  Trav.  Turner,  a  neigh- 
bor of  hers,  was  at  St.  Joseph  fitting  up  a  freight  train 
for  Salt  Lake.  I  knew  Turner  well.  He  had  carried  food 
to  Brother  James  and  me  while  we  lay  in  the  brush 
waiting  to  hear  the  fate  of  Charley  Pullins  who  was  cap- 
turned  when  we  were  all  overtaken  at  the  home  of  Reu- 
ben Eastin  in  that  neighborhood,  and  I  knew,  if  I  could 
reach  him,  I  would  have  no  difficulty  in  getting  away 
from  the  country.  Something  had  to  be  done.  If  I 
should  be  discovered  at  the  home  of  my  sister  it  would 
give  the  "yard  dogs,"  as  those  brave  murderers  of  that 
community  were  called,  a  pretext  for  robbing  her  and 
probably  for  killing  her  husband  or  some  of  her  family. 
We  decided  upon  a  plan.  I  shaved  very  clean  and 
parted  my  long  hair  in  the  middle,  put  on  one  of  my 
sister's  dresses  and  both  of  us  put  on  sunbonnets.  We 
got  in  a  buggy  and  started  for  Saint  Joseph.  We  passed 
right  through  old  Haynesville,  the  center  of  all  the  pat- 
riotic parading  of  the  "yard  dogs,"  on  through  Platts- 
burg  and  reached  the  home  of  Jack  Elder,  a  half  mile 


WORSE  THAN  WAR  189 

from  my  old  home,  where  we  stayed  all  night.  Next 
morning  we  drove  on  to  Saint  Joseph  and  took  dinner 
with  my  brother,  Isaac.  I  remember  this  incident  par- 
ticularly for  the  family  had  company  for  dinner.  I  was 
introduced  as  a  Clay  County  friend  of  Mrs.  Wilson's 
and  sat  down  at  the  same  table,  and  the  visitors  did  not 
suspect  me  through  my  disguise.  After  dinner  we  drove 
to  the  ferry  at  the  foot  of  Francis  Street  and  drove  on. 
The  boat  was  crowded  and  they  had  to  place  our  buggy 
in  line  in  order  to  make  room  for  others.  Two  men 
took  hold  of  the  buggy  to  lift  it  around.  My  sister  said, 
"Wait  and  we  will  get  out."  The  men  said,  "No,  sit  still 
ladies,  we  can  lift  it  with  you  in  it."  We  sat  still,  and 
crossed  over.  On  reaching  the  other  side  we  drove  out 
through  the  woods  and  found  Turner's  camp.  Passing 
on  beyond  and  out  of  sight,  I  removed  my  disguise, 
after  which  we  returned  to  the  camp  and  I  bade  my  sis- 
ter good-by. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
Across  the  Plains  in  Sixty- five. 

I  was  perfectly  at  home  in  Turner's  camp,  not  only 
on  account  of  my  acquaintance  with  him,  but  on  ac- 
count of  my  old  familiarity  with  plainsmen's  ways. 

There  were  nineteen  men  in  the  train,  and  but  three 
of  them,  Turner,  Cap.  Hughes,  the  wagon  boss,  and 
James  Curl,  of  Rushville,  knew  me.  They  were  all  dis- 
creet and  kept  their  knowledge  to  themselves.  I  went 
by  the  name  of  John  Allen.  Just  before  we  were  ready 
to  start  my  brother-in-law,  James  Reynolds,  sent  me  a 
mule,  bridle  and  saddle  and  a  small  amount  of  money. 
We  pulled  out  early  one  morning,  sixteen  wagons,  four 
yoke  of  oxen  to  each  wagon,  and  forty  hundred  in  each 
load.  Some  time  was  required  to  get  the  men  and  cattle 
accustomed  to  traveling,  and  for  a  while  our  progress 
was  slow.  At  Fort  Kearney  the  soldiers  stopped  our 
train.  They  told  us  the  Indians  were  on  the  warpath 
ahead  and  the  authorities  refused  to  permit  any  train 
to  pass  on  without  fifty  men.  This  forced  us  to  wait  un- 
til another  train  came  up.  During  this  time  we  were 
required  to  organize  ourselves  into  a  company  of  sol- 
diers, elect  a  captain  and  drill  several  hours  every  day. 
The  captain  ordered  me  out  to  drill  with  the  boys.  I 
told  him  I  knew  as  much  about  drilling  as  I  wanted  to 
know  and  refused  to  go.  Turner  thought  he  had  to  obey 
the  authorities  and  had  all  his  men  drill  very  indus- 
triously. I  told  him  he  had  better  stop  that  foolishness 
and  pull  out  or  he  would  not  reach  Salt  Lake  before 
Christmas.  He  said  he  did  not  know  how  to  get  away 
from  the  orders  given  him  by  the  soldiers.  I  told  him  to 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  SIXTY-FIVE  191 

turn  the  matter  over  to  me  and  I  would  show  him.  He 
did  as  I  requested  and  gave  orders  that  until  further 
notice  I  should  be  obeyed. 

The  following  morning  I  was  out  before  daylight.  I 
quietly  aroused  the  men  and  ordered  them  to  prepare 
to  move.  Everything  was  soon  ready  and  before  sun 
up  we  were  on  the  road.  I  made  twenty-five  miles  that 
day,  which  put  us  so  far  ahead  that  we  never  again 
heard  of  soldiers  or  of  the  trains  that  expected  to  ac- 
company us.  Turner  wanted  me  to  remain  in  charge  of 
the  train,  but  I  told  him  I  could  not  do  it,  as  I  had  had 
trouble  enough  the  past  four  years,  but  that  I  would 
give  him  all  the  assistance  in  my  power. 

The  train  moved  along  slowly  over  the  old  road  up 
the  Platte  which  was  so  familiar  to  me,  until  it  reached 
the  upper  crossing  at  South  Platte,  where  I  crossed  in 
forty-nine.  From  that  point  we  continued  up  South 
Platte  over  a  road  with  which  I  was  not  familiar.  When 
we  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Cache  le  Poudre  River  we 
crossed  and  left  the  Platte  and  followed  the  Cache  le 
Poudre  up  about  75  miles,  as  I  remember  it.  There 
we  left  the  river  and  passed  over  a  high  plateau,  or  di- 
vide as  we  called  it,  and  down  into  a  beautiful  valley, 
the  head  waters  of  Laramie  River.  After  crossing  this 
valley  we  passed  through  a  very  rough  country  that  lay 
between  the  Laramie  and  the  North  Platte.  On  this 
stretch  of  the  road  and  at  a  point  I  do  not  now  remem- 
ber, we  passed  a  government  fort.  There  I  saw  Gillis- 
pie  Poteet,  with  whom  I  had  gone  to  school  as  a  boy. 
He  was  a  private  in  the  Federal  service.  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  recognized  me  or  not.  I  passed  him  with- 
out speaking  or  making  myself  known.  My  experiences 
in  the  war  had  made  me  doubtful  of  even  my  old  school 
mates  when  I  saw  them  in  such  company  as  I  found 
him. 


192  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

After  crossing  North  Platte,  which  was  but  a  small 
stream  at  that  point,  we  passed  into  the  worst  alkali 
country  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  It  extended  from  the 
North  Platte  to  the  Colorado  River — a  distance  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  or  more. 

We  had  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  head  of  cattle 
and  about  one-fifth  of  them  gave  out  before  we  were 
half  way  across  the  desert  and  had  to  be  herded  behind 
the  train.  In  this  state  of  affairs,  which  seemed  about 
as  bad  as  it  could  well  be,  Turner  was  taken  sick.  He 
and  Captain  Hughes  had  been  having  trouble  with  the 
men,  and  Turner  was  greatly  worried,  and  I  thought  at 
first  that  he  was  homesick.  The  second  day  after  Tur- 
ner was  taken  sick  he  came  to  me  and  asked  me  to  take 
charge  of  the  train  and  let  him  go  on  by  stage  to  Salt 
Lake  City  where  he  could  rest  and  see  a  doctor.  I  had 
been  thinking  for  several  days  that  I  would  like  to 
leave  the  train  and  go  on  by  stage  myself,  but  did 
not  like  to  leave  Turner  while  he  was  in  trouble.  So 
when  he  proposed  to  go  on  I  suggested  that  he  leave  the 
train  with  Captain  Hughes  and  that  I  go  along  with  him 
to  care  for  him.  He  said  he  could  not  consent  to  go  on 
unless  I  remained  with  the  train;  that  if  we  both  went 
the  men  would  abandon  the  train  on  the  desert.  I  then 
told  him  I  would  do  my  best;  that  he  had  stood  by  me 
when  I  was  in  trouble,  had  carried  food  to  me  in  the 
brush  when,  if  he  had  been  discovered,  it  would  have 
cost  him  his  life,  and  that  I  was  ready  to  do  everything 
I  could  for  him.  I  saw  Captain  Hughes  and  found  it 
was  agreeable  to  him  that  I  take  charge. 

We  had  then  been  nearly  three  months  on  the  road. 
The  cattle  were  poor  and  worn  out  and  there  was  little 
food  for  them  upon  the  desert.  The  men  were  tired  and 
had  been  inclined  to  rebel  against  Turner  and  Hughes, 
and  many  times  it  was  all  that  all  of  us  could  do  to  keep 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  SIXTY-FIVE  193 

them  from  abandoning  the  train.  Under  these  trying 
conditions,  I  took  charge,  much  against  my  inclination, 
but  out  of  a  sense  of  duty  to  Turner. 

Turner  took  the  stage  and  left  us.  I  immediately 
gave  the  men  to  understand  that  I  would  have  no 
foolishness  and  that  I  intended  to  push  the  train  on  in 
good  order  and  as  rapidly  as  conditions  would  permit. 
The  men  seemed  to  believe  I  could  do  what  I  said  I 
could  do  and  became  very  well  satisfied.  I  had  trouble 
with  only  one  man — a  negro  that  Curl  had  picked  up 
at  Fort  Kearney,  and  placed  in  charge  of  one  of  his 
teams.  He  weighed  about  180  pounds,  and  had  just  been 
discharged  from  the  Union  army.  He  felt  very 
important,  and  still  wore  his  blue  uniform.  The 
trouble  arose  in  this  way:  At  night  we  placed 
the  wagons  so  as  to  form  a  large  corral,  leaving 
a  gap  on  one  side.  In  the  morning  the  cattle  would  be 
rounded  up  and  driven  into  the  corral  to  be  yoked.  This 
negro  would  not  go  out  in  the  roundup,  but  would  re- 
main at  the  camp  until  the  cattle  came  up,  then  in  place 
of  waiting  until  the  cattle  were  safely  in  the  corral,  he 
would  pick  up  his  yoke  and  start  for  his  cattle  directly 
in  front  of  the  drove.  Many  of  the  cattle  would  frighten 
at  this  and  run  away  and  have  to  be  rounded  up  again. 
The  boys  had  scolded  him  frequently,  but  he  paid  no 
attention  to  them,  and  when  I  went  in  charge  they  com- 
plained to  me.  I  spoke  to  the  negro  firmly  but  kindly 
and  told  him  to  wait  until  the  cattle  were  all  driven  in 
before  attempting  to  yoke  his  cattle.  He  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  me,  and  as  usual  frightened  the  cattle  back.  I 
said  nothing  more  to  him.  The  next  morning  I  took  one 
of  the  long  bull  whips,  the  stock  of  which  was  of  sea- 
soned hickory  and  eight  or  ten  feet  long,  and  took  my 
stand  at  the  side  of  the  gap  as  though  I  intended  to  as- 
sist in  driving  the  cattle  in.  When  the  front  cattle  came 


194  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

up  the  negro  started  for  his  oxen  with  the  yoke  in  his 
hands.  Quick  as  a  flash  I  changed  ends  on  the  whip- 
stock  and  with  the  butt  of  it  I  gave  him  such  a  rap  on 
the  side  of  the  head  that  he  dropped  his  yoke  and  stag- 
gered out  of  the  way.  That  was  the  last  trouble  I  had 
with  that  negro.  He  was  as  obliging  and  obedient  to  me 
after  that  as  I  could  ask  a  negro  to  be. 

I  got  the  train  to  the  Colorado  River  where  there 
was  plenty  of  water  and  grass,  and  rested  three  days. 
I  crossed  the  river  and  moved  on  up  Black  Fork  about 
forty  miles  to  Fort  Bridger.  There  I  met  Turner  who 
had  returned  from  Salt  Lake  to  see  how  we  got  along. 
I  drove  the  train  up  close  to  the  fort  and  stopped  on  a 
stream.  The  cattle  were  unyoked  and  I  had  gone  with 
them  to  the  stream  to  see  that  they  all  got  water.  It 
was  a  beautiful  place  to  camp,  and  with  the  fort  so  close 
at  hand  I  thought  we  could  all  lie  down  and  rest  with- 
out fear  of  Indians.  While  I  was  at  the  creek  three 
men  with  yellow  stripes  on  their  shoulders  rode  up  and 
asked  me  where  the  owner  of  the  train  was.  I  directed 
them  to  Turner,  who  was  at  the  camp.  They  rode  off 
and  I  followed  and  reached  the  camp  in  time  to  hear 
them  tell  Turner  that  he  must  move  on;  that  he  could 
not  camp  in  five  miles  of  the  fort;  that  they  were  sav- 
ing the  grass  for  hay.  Turner  asked  me  what  he  should 
do.  I  told  him  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do — move  on. 
That  the  fort  was  placed  there  for  the  purpose  of  pro- 
tecting emigrants,  and  freighters,  but  that  did  not  mat- 
ter. Those  gentlemen  in  blue  clothes  and  yellow  stripes 
must  be  protected  or  they  could  not  draw  their  salaries. 

The  dead  line  they  had  drawn  was  five  miles  be- 
yond, and  it  was  nearly  night  and  our  cattle  were 
hungry  and  we  were  foot-sore  and  worn  out,  and  all  the 
Indians  on  the  plains  could  rob  and  scalp  us  that  dis- 
tance away  from  the  fort  and  not  a  gentleman  in  blue 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  SIXTY-FIVE  195 

clothes  and  yellow  stripes  be  disturbed  by  it,  but  we 
had  to  move.  I  was  rebellious  again — more  so  I  believe 
than  at  any  moment  during  the  war,  which  had  just 
closed — and  but  for  my  recent  efforts  and  my  dismal 
failure,  I  should  have  felt  much  like  challenging  the 
whole  regiment  with  my  twenty  cowboys.  We  were  not 
the  only  sufferers.  An  emigrant  train  of  about  twenty 
families,  men,  women  and  children  from  near  Rush- 
ville,  Buchanan  County,  in  which  were  Joe  Hart  and 
Tom  Hill,  who  I  remember  had  fallen  in  with  us  and 
were  traveling  close  behind,  they,  too,  had  to  pack 
up  and  start.  It  was  late  at  night  when  we  reached  a  safe 
distance  from  the  fort  under  escort  of  the  gentlemen  in 
blue  clothes  and  yellow  stripes,  and  we  stopped  on  a 
desert  so  barren  that  we  had  to  corral  the  cattle  and 
hold  the  poor  hungry  things  all  night.  In  the  morning 
we  moved  on  some  miles  farther  and  found  grass  and 
water  and  stopped  the  remainder  of  the  day.  A  little 
less  than  a  week  later  we  pulled  into  Salt  Lake,  seventy 
miles  west  of  Fort  Bridger,  with  the  merchandise  in 
good  condition,  but  with  the  cattle  pretty  well  played 
out.  I  remained  with  Turner  until  his  wagons  were  all 
unloaded.  When  that  was  finished  my  free  boarding 
house  was  closed.  My  mule  was  so  poor  that  he  was 
almost  worthless.  I  had  but  little  money,  and  my 
friends  were  all  preparing  to  start  back.  I  could  not 
think  of  going  with  them  and  I  felt  the  necessity  for 
stirring  about  and  finding  something  to  do. 

In  a  few  days  a  large  train  pulled  in  from  the  west. 
I  went  to  the  boss  and  asked  him  what  his  plans  were. 
He  told  me  he  was  hauling  flour  from  Salt  Lake  City  to 
Helena,  Montana.  I  asked  him  about  the  Montana 
country,  and  where  and  how  he  wintered  his  cattle.  He 
said  he  grazed  them  on  Boulder  Creek  near  Helena,  and 
that  there  was  no  better  range  in  the  west.  I  learned 


196  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

farther  that  he  would  start  on  his  last  trip  before  win- 
ter in  about  a  week.  I  did  not  tell  him  that  I  thought  of 
applying  for  a  job  driving  an  ox  team. 

Next  day  Turner,  having  disposed  of  his  goods, 
asked  me  what  he  owed  me.  I  told  him  he  owed  me 
nothing;  that  he  had  paid  me  long  ago  by  protecting 
me  in  time  of  war,  and  had  brought  me  away  from  dan- 
ger free  of  charge.  Turner  said  he  would  not  have  it 
that  way;  that  if  I  had  not  been  along  his  train  would 
be  back  upon  the  alkali  desert,  and  that  he  proposed  to 
pay  me.  I  then  told  him  of  my  plan  to  drive  an  ox  team 
on  to  Montana,  as  I  was  a  pretty  good  bull-whacker  and 
had  to  have  some  place  to  go.  In  reply  to  this  he  said 
I  must  do  no  such  thing;  that  if  I  would  name  the  place 
I  wanted  to  go  he  would  see  that  I  had  a  way  to  get 
there  without  driving  a  team.  I  told  him  I  had  no  place 
in  particular  in  mind,  but  would  be  satisfied  anywhere 
among  the  mountains  and  Indians — just  so  I  could  get 
away  from  the  old  war  troubles  back  in  civilization. 

In  a  few  days  Turner  came  back  and  told  me  his 
cattle  were  so  poor  that  he  could  not  sell  them,  and  pro- 
posed that  I  buy  them  and  take  them  along  with  me.  I 
replied  that  I  had  no  money,  besides  I  was  alone  and 
felt  that  I  could  not  handle  the  cattle.  He  said  I  did 
not  need  any  money,  that  he  would  take  my  note  and  as 
to  the  other  matters  he  would  fix  them.  He  then 
made  me  a  present  of  a  fine  mare,  a  gun  and  a 
hundred  dollars  in  money.  He  also  gave  me  a  wagon 
loaded  with  provisions.  With  this  equipment,  it  began 
to  look  as  though  I  could  take  the  cattle,  and  that  the 
plan  he  had  made  for  me  was  much  better  than  any  I 
could  have  made  for  myself.  Jim  Curl,  a  Buchanan 
County  boy,  had  sixteen  head  of  cattle  which  he  added 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  SIXTY-FIVE  197 

to  mine.  He  loaded  a  wagon  with  provisions  and  each 
of  us  hired  a  man  to  drive  our  team,  and  with  this  ar- 
rangement made  we  were  ready  to  start. 

We  remained  at  Salt  Lake  until  Turner  had  fin- 
ished his  business.  His  entire  outfit  at  St.  Joseph  cost 
him  about  seven  thousand  dollars.  He  paid  about  two 
thousand  dollars  in  wages  to  the  men  who  assisted  him. 
He  received  twenty-five  thousand  six  hundred  dollars 
for  his  cargo.  I  saw  him  get  the  money  and  put  it  in  a 
bank.  I  realized  then  what  a  loss  it  would  have  been 
to  him  had  he  failed  to  get  his  train  across,  and  he  often 
told  me  if  I  had  not  been  along  he  might  never  have 
succeeded.  I  gave  Turner  my  note  for  four  thousand 
dollars  for  the  cattle  and  he  took  the  stage  for  home. 
The  next  day  Curl  and  I  left  for  Boulder  Valley. 

For  seventy-five  miles  or  more  out  of  Salt  Lake 
we  had  to  pass  through  the  Mormon  settlements  and 
we  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  the  cattle  out  of  the 
fields  and  gardens.  We  crossed  Bear  River  just 
above  the  point  where  it  empties  into  Salt  Lake  and, 
after  crossing  a  range  of  mountains,  found  Hedge- 
peth's  cutoff,  a  road  I  had  traveled  in  1854.  A  short  dis- 
tance farther  on,  and  from  the  top  of  a  high  divide,  I 
could  see  Snake  River  valley  near  Fort  Hall,  my  old  trail 
in  1849.  When  we  got  down  to  the  river  and  crossed 
the  deep  worn  trail,  the  scene  was  quite  familiar  to 
me,  although  it  had  been  a  good  many  years  since  I  had 
viewed  it  the  last  time.  After  crossing  Snake  River  we 
set  out  across  the  mountains  for  our  destination.  I  can't 
remember  the  names  of  many  points  on  this  trip.  In 
fact  the  road  was  comparatively  new  and  but  few 
places  had  names.  I  remember  passing  over  a  broad, 
sandy  desert,  where  our  cattle  nearly  famished  for 
water,  and  then  down  a  long  grade  over  almost  solid 
rock.  Near  the  bottom  of  this  grade  I  saw  a  small 


198  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

stream  some  distance  away,  and  rode  down  to  see  if  I 
could  find  a  way  by  which  the  cattle  could  reach  water. 
I  recall  this  distinctly  because  while  hunting  a  path  to 
the  water  I  saw  two  queer  looking  animals,  the  like  of 
which  I  had  never  seen  before.  I  learned  afterwards 
that  they  were  lynx. 

Next  day  we  passed  into  a  beautiful  valley  where 
we  had  plenty  of  water  and  grass,  but  it  snowed  most 
of  the  day — a  wet  snow  that  soon  melted  and  did  not 
interfere  much  with  grazing.  Passing  on  we  reached 
Black  Tail  Creek,  (so  named  after  the  black  tail  deer), 
which  we  followed  down  to  Nelson  River.  After  cross- 
ing Nelson  River  we  passed  over  a  low  range  of  moun- 
tains and  down  into  Boulder  Valley,  the  place  we  set 
out  to  reach.  In  spite  of  the  high  recommendation 
given  this  valley  as  a  place  to  winter  cattle,  I  did  not 
like  it,  and  we  moved  on  up  the  river  about  fifty  miles, 
and  reached  a  place  where  the  grass  was  abundant,  but 
the  frost  had  killed  it.  Curl  thought  this  was  the  place 
to  stop,  but  I  was  not  satisfied.  I  saw  no  bunch  grass, 
and  my  experience  with  cattle  in  California  told  me  that 
we  would  not  be  safe  unless  we  found  a  place  where 
bunch  grass  grew  on  the  mountain  sides.  However,  we 
camped  at  this  point  and  remained  a  few  days  to  look 
about.  Just  above  our  camp  a  small  creek,  which 
seemed  to  come  down  from  a  big  mountain  in  the  dis- 
tance, put  into  Boulder  River.  Curl  and  I  passed  up 
this  creek  toward  the  mountain,  which  was  covered  with 
snow.  Some  miles  up  we  found  the  finest  bunch  grass 
I  ever  saw  growing  upon  the  low  hills  which  surround- 
ed the  high  peak.  We  spent  the  whole  day  looking  over 
the  place  and  went  so  far  as  to  select  the  site  for  our 
cabin.  Returning  to  camp,  entirely  satisfied  with  our 
day's  work,  we  planned  for  the  winter.  Next  morning 
early  we  were  on  our  way  to  the  mountain  home  we  had 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  SIXTY-FIVE  199 

selected.  The  grade  was  steep,  our  wagons  were  heavy 
and  there  was  no  road.  We  had  to  circle  about  the  hills 
and  wind  and  twist  in  order  to  get  along  at  all.  It  was 
nearly  night  when  we  arrived  at  the  spot  selected. 

I  had  expected,  from  reports  given  me,  to  find  a 
white  settlement  in  Boulder  Valley,  but  there  was  none, 
and  if  there  was  a  white  person  within  fifty  miles  of 
our  camp  that  night  we  did  not  know  it.  Virginia  City 
and  Helena  were  mining  towns  about  a  hundred  miles 
apart,  and  we  were  half  way  between  them.  I  could 
hardly  have  found  a  place  in  the  whole  western  country 
where  the  chance  of  meeting  a  white  man  was  so  small. 
It  was,  by  good  fortune,  the  very  spot  I  set  out  to  find 
when  I  left  Missouri.  I  told  my  friends  when  I  left  that 
I  was  going  out  among  the  savage  Indians  for  protec- 
tion against  the  "yard  dog"  militia,  who  had  not  been 
in  the  war,  and  who  only  commenced  fighting  after  the 
war  was  over  and  returning  Confederate  soldiers  were 
at  their  mercy. 

A  hurried  camp,  such  as  we  were  accustomed  to 
make  when  traveling,  was  all  we  did  the  night  of  our 
arrival.  Next  morning  we  were  up  bright  and  early 
and,  after  attention  to  the  cattle  to  see  that  none  of 
them  had  strayed,  we  began  building  our  winter  home. 
We  had  but  one  axe  and  one  shovel — one  implement  for 
each  of  us.  Abundance  of  pine  and  cedar  grew  near. 
I  took  the  axe  and  began  cutting  the  logs  while  Curl 
with  the  shovel  leveled  the  earth  upon  the  site  selected 
for  the  cabin.  Curl's  task  was  soon  done,  but  not  until 
I  had  a  number  of  logs  ready  to  be  taken  in.  The  oxen 
were  then  yoked  and  as  fast  as  the  logs  were  cut  they 
were  dragged  in.  When  we  decided  logs  enough  were 
upon  the  ground,  building  began.  It  was  slow  work 
and  hard  work.  Each  log  had  to  be  raised  and  laid  in 
its  place  and  notched  carefully  so  that  it  would  hold 


200  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

firm  and  leave  as  little  space  as  possible  to  be  "chink- 
ed." When  the  proper  height  for  the  eaves  had  been 
reached,  we  elevated  one  side  by  adding  logs  to  give 
slant  to  the  roof.  Stout  poles  were  then  laid  side  by  side, 
over  which  we  spread  a  thick  layer  of  cedar  branches 
and  covered  the  whole  with  gravel.  We  chinked  the 
spaces  between  the  logs  and  plastered  over  the  chinking 
with  mortar  made  of  mud.  We  then  cut  out  a  door,  over 
which  we  hung  a  heavy  blanket,  and  with  such  stones  as 
we  could  select,  suitable  to  be  used,  built  a  fire-place, 
laying  the  stones  in  the  same  kind  of  mortar  used  in  the 
chinking.  Thus  we  had  a  house  without  a  nail  or  a 
piece  of  iron  about  it. 

Before  I  left  Salt  Lake,  I  bought  two  fine  grey- 
hounds. I  trained  them  to  sleep  just  inside  our  door. 
I  told  Curl  they  must  serve  as  a  lock  to  our  door.  They 
were  faithful  and  obedient  and  I  knew  no  Indian  could 
get  near  us  without  warning.  I  felt  more  secure  when  I 
lay  down  to  sleep  with  those  dogs  by  my  door  than  if  I 
had  had  a  puncheon  door,  barred  and  locked. 

We  moved  into  our  cabin  late  in  October,  and  I  felt 
for  the  first  time  in  more  than  four  years  that  I  was  at 
home.  I  was  glad  also  to  get  a  rest.  I  had  left  Red 
River,  fifty  miles  above  Shreveport,  in  April,  walked 
the  seven  hundred  miles  to  Ruchanan  County, 
fighting,  running  and  hiding — much  of  the  time 
without  food,  as  I  have  related;  then  twelve  hundred 
miles  to  Salt  Lake,  with  a  week's  rest,  then  six  hundred 
miles  to  Roulder  Valley — six  months  of  trial  and  hard- 
ship which  few  men  are  called  upon  to  endure.  In  view 
of  this  I  looked  upon  my  winter  in  the  cabin,  in  spite  of 
its  loneliness,  with  a  good  deal  of  pleasure. 

There  was  an  abundance  of  game  all  about  us. 
Elk,  deer,  antelope,  bear,  moose,  and  smaller  game, 
grouse,  pheasants  and  sage  hens  plentiful.  Elk  was  my 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  SIXTY-FIVE  201 

favorite  meat,  and,  while  we  had  great  variety,  I  always 
kept  as  much  as  one  hind  quarter  of  elk  hanging  upon 
the  corner  of  our  cabin.  Any  day  I  chose  I  could  take 
lay  gun  and  go  out  upon  the  mountain  side  among  the 
cattle  and  bring  back  just  such  meat  as  my  appetite 
fancied. 

We  lived  thus  until  near  the  first  of  the  year  1866, 
without  once  seeing  a  human  face — either  white  man  or 
Indian.  One  morning  about  the  time  mentioned,  Curl 
and  I  went  out  to  get  our  ponies  when  we  saw  a  dozen 
buck  Indians  chasing  an  antelope  down  the  valley. 
Some  were  on  foot  and  some  on  ponies.  We  hurriedly 
climbed  up  the  side  of  a  mountain  which  gave  us  an 
extended  view  of  the  whole  plain,  and  to  our  astonish- 
ment we  saw,  about  three  miles  away,  a  perfect  village 
of  wigwams.  We  were  no  longer  without  neighbors. 
Curl  was  considerably  alarmed,  but  I  told  him  we  had 
nothing  to  fear,  except  that  our  game  would  not  be  so 
plentiful  and  so  easily  procured.  He  asked  me  how  I 
knew  we  were  in  no  danger.  I  pointed  to  the  squaws, 
and  pappooses  which  we  could  see  about  the  village, 
and  told  him  that  my  experience  with  Indians  was  that 
they  were  always  peaceable  when  they  had  their  fam- 
ilies along.  I  told  him,  however,  that  we  must  be  dis- 
creet and  make  friends  with  them,  and  assured  him  that 
I  knew  how  to  do  that  and  that  he  must  follow  my  ad- 
vice. 

Out  of  extra  caution  we  went  back  to  the  cabin  and 
immediately  put  all  our  guns  in  good  condition.  We 
had  hardly  finished  our  task,  when  about  noon,  two  In- 
dians ran  upon  our  cabin,  to  their  utter  astonishment. 
They  stopped  and  looked  in  consternation.  Our  dogs 
went  after  them  and  I  had  hard  work  to  make  the  dogs 
understand  that  they  must  not  harm  them.  When  the 
dogs  were  quiet  I  went  up  to  them,  showing  my  friendli- 


202  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

ness  in  every  way  I  could.  They  answered  me  with  signs 
showing  that  they  too  were  friendly.  When  I  had  con- 
vinced them  I  meant  no  harm,  I  had  them  come  into  the 
cabin,  and  there  I  tried  to  find  out  what  their  plans 
were  in  the  valley.  I  could  understand  but  little  they 
said,  but  I  felt  perfectly  sure  that  by  proper  cultivation 
we  should  soon  become  quite  friendly. 

I  then  set  food  before  them.  I  had  a  kettle  of 
thoroughly  cooked  navy  beans  simmering  over  our 
fire.  I  filled  a  couple  of  pans  from  the  kettle,  set  them 
out  and  provided  bread  and  meat.  They  went  in  on 
the  beans  and  ate  them  ravenously.  I  tried  to  induce 
them  to  eat  bread  and  meat,  but  not  a  morsel  would 
they  touch,  but  kept  calling  for  beans.  I  told  Curl  we 
must  find  some  way  to  stop  them  if  possible,  as  so  many 
beans  in  their  starved  stomachs  might  make  them 
sick  and  the  tribe  would  think  we  had  poisoned  them. 
We  both  then  began  to  make  all  manner  of  signs  to- 
ward the  bread  and  meat,  but  it  was  useless.  The  two 
ate  the  entire  kettle  of  beans  and  looked  around  for 
more.  When  they  saw  the  beans  were  gone,  they  ate 
large  quantities  of  bread  and  meat,  and  made  signs  that 
they  were  much  pleased  with  their  meal.  When  they 
left  they  made  us  understand  that  we  were  invited  to 
see  them.  They  pointed  to  their  camp  and  said  "wakee 
up."  We  made  them  understand  that  we  would  come 
and  when  they  were  gone  I  told  Curl  we  must  keep  our 
promise. 

Next  day  we  saddled  our  horses,  buckled  our  navies 
on  the  outside  of  our  clothes  and  each  with  a  rifle  in 
front  across  the  horn  of  the  saddle,  rode  down.  The 
dogs  followed  us.  When  we  rode  up  the  squaws  and 
pappooses  ran  for  the  tents  like  chickens  that  have  seen 
a  hawk  in  the  air.  But  few  bucks  were  in  camp,  the 
majority  of  them  being  out  hunting.  Fortunately  for  us 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  SIXTY-FIVE  203 

one  of  the  bucks  who  had  dined  with  us  so  heartily  on 
beans  the  day  before  was  lying  in  his  tent  (perfectly 
well,  to  our  surprise),  and  when  the  alarm  was  given  he 
came  out  and  recognized  us.  He  came  up  and  bade  us 
welcome,  and  invited  us  into  his  tent.  I  was  surprised  to 
see  how  comfortably  he  was  fixed.  The  poles  of  his 
tent  were  probably  twenty  feet  long  and  tied  together 
at  the  top.  The  lower  ends  of  the  poles  were  set  in  a 
wide  circle,  making  a  room  twelve  or  fourteen  feet 
across.  It  was  a  cold,  winter  day  and  a  small  stick  fire 
was  burning  in  the  center  directly  beneath  an  opening 
at  the  top  of  the  tent.  The  draft  was  such  that  the 
smoke  all  arose  and  escaped  from  the  tent.  They  had 
gathered  pine  needles  and  packed  them  upon  the  floor 
around  the  fire  and  over  them  had  spread  dressed  buf- 
falo robes,  making  as  fine  a  carpet  as  I  ever  set  foot 
upon. 

We  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  talked  as  much  as  we 
could  to  our  host,  making  him  understand  that  we  were 
entirely  friendly.  Our  dogs,  seeing  the  good  feeling  be- 
tween the  Indians  and  ourselves,  accepted  the  situation 
and  throughout  the  entire  winter  made  no  hostile  dem- 
onstrations toward  them  except  when  they  came  about 
the  cabin.  From  this  visit  the  whole  tribe  became  aware 
that  we  were  friendly,  and  within  a  very  short  time  the 
very  best  feeling  prevailed. 

Their  only  means  of  subsistence  was  the  game  they 
killed,  and  as  they  had  no  weapons  but  bows  and  ar- 
rows it  required  almost  constant  effort  upon  the  part  of 
the  bucks  to  keep  the  tribe  supplied  with  food.  They 
were  very  clever  in  their  methods  and  would  bring  in 
game  when  white  men  under  such  circumstances  would 
have  failed  entirely.  One  of  their  favorite  plans  was 
this:  Fifty  or  more  would  mount  their  ponies  and 
make  a  wide  circle,  driving  always  toward  Cottonwood 


204  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

Creek.  The  banks  of  this  stream  were  very  steep  and 
there  were  but  few  crossing  places.  The  antelope  on 
becoming  alarmed  would  start  for  these  crossings,  and 
as  they  passed  down  the  narrow  gulches,  other  Indians 
with  bows  and  arrows  waylaid  them  from  behind  rocks 
and  brush,  and  shot  them  down.  They  did  wonders 
with  their  bows  and  arrows,  but  many  antelope  passed 
through  without  being  touched.  Others,  though  wound- 
ed, escaped. 

We  soon  began  to  join  in  these  hunts,  and  I  have 
from  my  station  behind  a  rock  at  one  of  these  crossings 
killed  as  many  as  fifteen  antelope  in  a  single  hunt.  I 
was  an  expert  with  the  navy  in  those  days  and  rarely 
missed  a  shot.  I  always  gave  them  every  one  to  the  In- 
dians, as  neither  Curl  nor  I  cared  for  antelope  meat, 
and  they  were,  of  course,  greatly  pleased  and  regarded 
us  both  with  our  skill  and  navies  as  fortunate  acquisi- 
tions, and  we  lost  nothing  by  our  kindness  to  them. 

We  had  a  hundred  and  sixteen  head  of  cattle  and 
four  horses.  The  Indians  had  about  two  hundred 
ponies.  All  herded  and  grazed  together  in  that  valley 
for  four  months.  When  the  Indians  left  in  the  spring 
we  rounded  up  our  cattle  and  found  every  one  of  them. 

About  the  first  of  May,  1866,  we  moved  our  cattle 
over  on  Indian  Creek,  about  forty  miles  north.  There 
was  a  little  mining  town  near  and  we  set  up  a  butcher 
shop,  furnishing  our  own  beeves  to  it.  The  town  was 
not  large  enough  to  enable  us  to  do  much  business  and, 
after  two  months,  we  moved  to  Helena,  another  mining 
town,  but  larger  than  the  first.  At  that  time  Virginia 
City  was  the  capital  of  the  territory.  By  the  first  of 
September  we  had  disposed  of  all  our  cattle  one  way  or 
another  and  were  ready  for  something  else. 


ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  SIXTY-FIVE  205 

While  we  were  deciding  what  next  to  do,  Brother 
William  and  his  family  arrived  in  Helena.  I  had  not 
seen  him  for  six  years — since  he  and  Brother  Zack  left 
me  at  home  in  1860  to  care  for  father  while  they  went 
back  to  California  to  look  after  the  cattle.  I  had  heard 
little  from  our  ranch  and  our  cattle  in  California,  but 
was  hardly  prepared  to  learn  that  war  times  had  been 
so  bad  there.  From  William  I  learned  that  great  law- 
lessness prevailed  in  California  and  that  our  cattle  had 
been  shot  and  driven  away  and  that  long  before  the  war 
was  over  William  and  Zack  had  nothing  left  but  their 
families.  They  went  to  Idaho  and  mined  a  while,  and 
then  on  to  Montana.  While  in  Idaho,  Brother  James, 
who  had  escaped  from  prison  in  St.  Louis — and  a  death 
sentence  also — had  managed  to  join  them  with  his  fam- 
ily. James  and  Zack  had  bought  a  drove  of  cattle  and 
had  them  in  another  portion  of  Montana,  so  William, 
Curl  and  I  decided  to  come  home. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Return  to  Missouri. 

It  was  too  late  in  the  fall  when  this  decision  was 
reached  to  make  the  trip  by  land,  and  we  began  to  look 
about  for  an  opportunity  to  go  by  the  river.  Two  men 
were  fitting  up  a  flat  boat  at  Fort  Benton,  a  hundred 
miles  down  the  river  from  Helena.  We  all — William, 
his  wife  and  little  daughter,  Curl  and  myself  got  in  Wil- 
liam's two-horse  wagon  and  made  our  way  over  to  Fort 
Benton.  There  were  no  white  people  living  between 
the  two  places,  and  we  were  told  that  it  was  not  safe  to 
attempt  the  journey,  as  the  Indians  had  killed  and  rob- 
bed many  persons  on  that  road.  We  were  too  well  ac- 
quainted with  Indians  to  be  much  afraid  of  them,  so  we 
decided  to  go.  We  saw  no  Indians,  but  I  was  robbed  one 
night.  William  and  his  family  slept  in  the  wagon,  Curl 
and  I  under  it.  One  night  a  coyote  slipped  up  and  stole 
a  sack  of  vension  from  under  the  back  part  of  my  pil- 
low. That  was  the  second  experience  of  that  kind.  The 
other,  which  I  think  I  have  related,  happened  years  be- 
fore in  California. 

When  I  left  with  Turner  at  St.  Joseph  I  was  on  the 
west  side  of  the  Missouri  River.  When  I  reached  Fort 
Benton  I  was  on  the  east  side,  and  that  was  the  first 
time  I  had  seen  the  river  since  I  had  left  it  at  St.  Joseph. 
I  had  gone  entirely  around  it. 

The  boat  that  was  being  rigged  out  was  a  curious 
affair.  It  had  no  steam,  no  sails  and  no  oars — just  a 
flat  bottomed  scow  with  a  rudder — designed  to  float 
with  the  current.  The  only  equipment  for  navigation 
besides  the  rudder  was  a  number  of  long  poles  to  be 
used  in  aiding  the  boat  off  of  sand  bars.  About  two- 


THE  RETURN  TO  MISSOURI  207 

thirds  of  the  floor  space  of  the  boat  was  housed  in  by 
stretching  dry  raw  hides  two  deep  over  a  heavy  frame 
work,  leaving  port  holes  at  convenient  places  through 
which  our  guns  could  be  directed  at  the  Indians  in  case 
of  attack.  The  boat  was  built  by  Sloan  and  Parcell,  two 
men  from  Iowa,  and  they  were  very  proud  of  their  craft. 

When  everything  was  ready,  fifty  passengers  got 
aboard,  including  two  families,  and  the  cable  was  cut. 
The  current  was  swift  and  we  went  down  at  a  gait  so 
rapid  that  it  was  almost  alarming,  but  we  soon  grew 
accustomed  to  it.  While  in  the  mountains  we  fre- 
quently came  to  shoals  and  riffles  over  which  the  boat 
dashed  at  a  speed  that  turned  us  dizzy,  but  we  had  to 
stay  with  it  and  trust  to  the  man  at  the  rudder  to  keep 
her  straight  ahead. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone,  we  passed  a  tribe* 
of  Indians  in  camp.  The  boat  drifted  around  a  little 
curve  and  up  within  forty  yards  of  the  bank  on  which 
the  camp  was  situated  before  we  noticed  them.  They 
were  more  surprised,  I  think,  than  we,  for  they  stood 
looking  until  we  passed  entirely  out  of  sight.  It  snowed 
all  that  day,  and  next  morning  we  were  drifting  through 
mushy  ice  which  sometimes  threatened  to  squeeze  our 
boat.  We  were  in  constant  fear  of  a  gorge  and  tried 
several  times  to  reach  the  shore  and  land,  but  could  not 
get  through  the  ice.  Had  our  boat  encountered  a  gorge 
it  is  probable  that  the  whole  crew  would  have  been 
drowned.  Late  in  the  afternoon  a  south  wind  began 
to  blow  and  in  a  few  hours  the  river  was  nearly  clear. 
This  was  a  great  relief. 

We  had  calculated  on  reaching  St.  Joseph  in  a 
month  and  had  laid  in  provisions  accordingly.  When 
we  struck  the  Bad  Lands  the  current  of  the  river  be- 
came so  sluggish  that  we  could  scarcely  perceive  that 
we  were  traveling.  We  had  plenty  of  flour,  but  no 


208  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

meat,  so  every  now  and  then,  slow  as  we  were  going,  we 
had  to  tie  up  and  get  out  and  kill  a  deer  or  an  antelope. 
Sometimes  this  required  a  good  deal  of  time,  as  our  luck 
in  hunting  was  bad.  The  current  got  so  slow  and  the 
prospects  of  getting  into  swifter  water  looked  so  bad, 
that  we  rigged  up  a  set  of  oars  out  of  long  cottonwood 
poles  cut  on  the  banks  and  flattened.  With  these 
we  set  the  men  at  work  by  turns,  two  to  each  oar, 
night  and  day  and  made  much  better  progress.  I  think 
if  we  had  waited  for  the  current  we  should  not  have 
reached  home  before  June  of  the  next  year.  When  we 
reached  Yankton  we  got  additional  supplies  and  finally 
reached  Sioux  City,  where  we  found  an  opportunity  to 
take  the  stage  to  Omaha,  and  did  so.  At  Omaha  we  got  a 
steamboat  to  St.  Joseph,  and  reached  home  late  in  Oc- 
tober, two  months  and  a  half  out  of  Fort  Benton. 

I  found  conditions  in  Missouri  much  better  than 
when  I  left.  The  war  was  really  over.  The  militia  had 
all  been  discharged  and  there  was  now  no  longer  any 
excuse  for  killing  and  robbing  men.  After  such  a  long 
period  of  lawlessness  it  required  some  time,  of  course, 
to  reduce  everything  to  order  and  to  secure  a  rigid  en- 
forcement of  the  law,  but  I  was  surprised  and  gratified 
at  the  progress  that  had  been  made.  I  passed  a  very 
pleasant  winter  with  relatives  and  friends,  and  it  began 
to  look  like  I  would  be  able  to  settle  down  and  live  in 
peace.  There  were  those  in  the  community  who  were 
disappointed  with  the  results  of  the  war  to  themselves 
because  they  had  expected  to  get  possession  of  the 
land  belonging  to  Confederate  soldiers.  In  fact,  our 
negroes  told  me  during  the  war  that  certain  men  had 
said  the  Gibson  boys  could  never  come  back  to  this 
country,  and  they  intended  to  get  their  land.  Of  course, 
my  presence  at  home  with  every  prospect  of  remain- 
ing naturally  displeased  those  who  had  designs  upon 


THE  RETURN  TO  MISSOURI  209 

my  land  and  that  which  belonged  to  my  brothers,  and 
I  could  hardly  hope  to  remain  unmolested — especially 
as  all  the  public  officials  were  ready  to  give  willing 
ear  to  every  report  against  me.  Bancroft  Library 

About  the  first  of  March,  after  I  had  lived  publicly 
and  peaceably  in  my  home  community  and  in  St.  Jo- 
seph all  winter,  a  man  named  Joe  Lemons,  who  was  the 
tool  of  other  men  whom  I  knew,  swore  out  a  warrant 
charging  me  with  stealing  his  horse  during  the  war.  As 
soon  as  I  heard  the  warrant  was  out  my  blood  went  up 
to  the  old  war  heat,  but  I  said  nothing.  I  made  no  at- 
tempt to  escape  or  to  conceal  myself,  but  went  about  my 
business.  A  few  days  later  I  had  business  in  St.  Joseph 
and  went  up  as  usual,  determined  to  have  no  trouble  if 
I  could  avoid  it.  I  was  standing  in  front  of  Nave  and 
McCord's  wholesale  grocery  house,  talking  to  my 
brother  Isaac,  when  Phelps,  a  deputy  sheriff,  came  up 
and  asked  me  if  my  name  was  Jim  Gibson.  I  told  him 
my  name  was  John  Gibson.  He  then  said,  "I  guess  I 
have  got  a  writ  for  you."  I  said,  "Have  you?  Let's  hear 
it."  He  had  a  heavy  shawl  or  blanket  around  his  shoul- 
ders, such  as  men  wore  in  those  days.  His  hands  were 
both  concealed  beneath  the  shawl,  and  when  I  asked  to 
hear  the  writ  he  drew  his  left  hand  with  the  writ  in  it 
from  under  his  shawl  and  in  so  doing  moved  the  shawl 
from  over  his  right  hand  and  I  saw  that  he  held  a  six- 
shooter  with  that  hand.  I  did  not  move  or  make  any  at- 
tempt to  resist  him,  but  stood  until  he,  trembling  like  a 
leaf,  had  read  the  writ.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished, I  waited  for  him  to  say  what  should  be  done  next, 
but  he  stood  some  moments  greatly  embarrassed,  and 
said  nothing.  Finally  I  said,  "Well,  what  about  it?"  His 
courage  then  came  to  him  sufficiently  for  him  to  say. 
"You  will  have  to  go  to  the  court  house  with  me."  I 
said,  "all  right,"  and  turned  and  asked  brother  Isaac 


210  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

to  go  along  with  me.  We  started  to  the  court 
house  and  just  then  old  Fish,  the  sheriff,  came  gallop- 
ing up  with  his  big  spurs  on  his  heels  and  jumped  off 
his  horse.  He  blustered  up  and  slapped  me  on  the  shoul- 
der and  said,  "y°u  d — d  horse  thief  -  -  give  up  your 
arms."  I  put  my  hand  on  his  breast  and  shoved  him  off 
the  sidewalk,  and  in  stepping  off  the  curbstone  he  fell. 
He  got  up  and  he  and  Phelps  stood  looking  at  me.  I 
did  not  say  "what  about  it"  any  more,  but  started  on  to- 
ward the  court  house.  When  I  had  got  about  ten  steps 
away  Fish  said  to  Phelps,  "Why  don't  you  shoot  him?" 
Phelps  said  he  did  not  want  to  kill  anybody  and  Fish 
then  said,  "Give  me  the  gun,  I  will  shoot  him."  With 
that  he  snatched  the  gun  from  Phelps  and  pointed  it  at 
me.  I  jerked  my  gun  from  my  side  and  leveled  it  at  him. 
He  lowered  his  gun  instantly  and  I  turned  and  walked 
on.  Fish  then  began  to  yell,  "Catch  him !  Catch  him !" 
keeping  all  the  time  a  good,  safe  distance  behind.  He 
followed  me  to  Edmond  Street,  all  the  time  keeping  up 
his  yell  and  by  that  time  he  had  raised  half  the  town, 
it  seemed  to  me.  Everybody,  policemen  and  all,  ran  out 
to  see  what  was  the  trouble  with  old  Fish.  I  passed  on 
up  Edmond  Street  and  came  to  a  man  with  a  stick  of 
wood  in  his  hand.  He  raised  it  and  told  me  to  stop.  I 
told  him  to  drop  his  stick  and  not  to  bother  me.  He 
obeyed  and  I  walked  on.  I  turned  on  Fourth  Street  and 
went  into  a  feed  stable,  and  through  it  to  an  alley,  and 
then  around  to  the  south  side  of  the  stable.  No  one  was 
near  me  and  I  stopped.  I  had  stood  but  an  instant  when 
a  brother  of  Phelps,  the  deputy  sheriff,  came  running  to- 
ward me.  I  drew  my  gun  and  asked  him  what  he 
wanted.  He  turned  and  ran.  There  was  a  board  fence 
about  five  feet  high  in  front  of  him.  He  sprang  up  on 
it  on  his  breast  and  turned  a  somersault  over  it  into 
the  alley  and  struck  the  ground  flat  on  his  back.  I  had 


THE  RETURN  TO  MISSOURI  211 

to  laugh  at  the  frightened  fool  and  that  put  me  in  a 
better  humor.  I  went  to  Fourth  Street  and  went  into 
the  back  door  of  a  barber  shop.  The  front  door  was 
closed,  but  there  was  a  great  throng  standing  outside 
and  Fish  was  still  yelling.  The  crowd  was  quiet  and 
orderly.  I  had  been  in  the  shop  a  few  minutes  when  I 
heard  some  one  say,  "Don't  go  in  there,  that  man  will 
shoot  you !"  Another  man  said,  "If  you  will  go  in  I  will 
go  with  you?"  At  that  time  I  did  not  intend  to  hurt  any- 
one and  if  Fish  had  let  me  alone  I  would  have  been  at 
the  court  house,  for  I  knew  there  was  no  case  against 
me.  But  just  as  the  conversation  I  have  related  took 
place  Fish  and  his  man  jumped  in  at  the  back  door, 
Fish  with  his  navy  cocked  and  pointed  at  my  breast. 
He  called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "Now,  you  d — d  horse  thief 
—  give  up  your  arms !"  That  was  too  much  for  me  to 
take  a  second  time.  The  last  word  was  not  out  of  his 
mouth  until  the  muzzle  of  my  six-shooter  was  against 
his  neck  and  hell  was  blazing  inside  of  me.  I  pulled  the 
trigger,  the  cap  burst  with  loud  noise  but  the  gun,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  experience  with  it,  failed  to  go.  Fish 
thought  he  was  shot  and  fell  backward  out  at  the  door. 
Three  policemen  entering  by  the  front  door  came  up  be- 
hind and  grabbed  me  and  took  my  guns  away  from  me. 
By  this  time  Fish  had  come  to  himself  and  jumped  back 
in  the  back  door  and  shot  at  me.  I  knocked  the  muzzle 
of  the  gun  up  and  the  ball  went  into  the  ceiling.  My 
little  finger  hit  the  end  of  the  gun  just  as  it  was  dis- 
charged and  the  ball  grazed  the  flesh  off  down  to  the 
bone.  A  policeman  caught  Fish  and  pushed  him  back 
and  said,  "Nobody  but  a  d — d  coward  would  shoot  a 
prisoner." 

Fish  and  his  brave  deputies  then  formed  a  proces- 
sion and  started  me  off  to  the  court  house.  Phelps,  to 
whom  I  had  really  surrendered  on  the  reading  of  the 


212  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

writ,  and  who  I  think  understood  all  along  that  there 
would  have  been  no  trouble  but  for  Fish's  insulting 
bluster,  led  me  by  the  arm.  Fish  walked  behind  with 
my  two  navies — one  in  each  hand,  and  one  other  deputy 
loaded  down  with  guns  rode  Fish's  horse  by  my  side. 
Another  deputy,  whose  name  I  will  not  mention,  an  old 
school  mate  of  mine,  remained  far  behind,  thinking,  I 
suppose,  that  I  had  not  seen  him.  I  had  met  him  on 
Felix  Street  a  half  hour  before  Phelps  presented  the 
writ  to  me  and  as  soon  as  Phelps  came  up  I  knew 
where  he  had  received  information  that  I  was  in  town. 
This  deputy  knew  that  I  would  not  resist  arrest  if 
treated  with  anything  like  decency,  and  might  have 
had  me  go  with  him  to  the  court  house  upon  his  re- 
quest even  without  a  writ,  but  this  method  did  not 
suit  the  bragging,  make-believe  methods  of  the  men 
who  were  vainly  trying  to  convince  the  community  of 
their  bravery. 

As  the  procession  moved  with  the  desperate  man 
up  Fifth  Street,  attracting  the  attention  of  everybody, 
greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  brave  fellows  who  had 
made  the  capture,  I  said  to  Phelps,  that  he  need  not 
hold  my  arm  as  I  would  not  attempt  to  run.  Fish,  who 
heard  the  remark,  said  to  Phelps,  "Turn  him  loose 
and  let  him  run."  I  halted  and  turned  to  Fish  and  said, 
"If  you  will  give  me  one  of  my  navies  I  will  run!"  I 
would  have  done  exactly  what  I  said,  and  Fish  knew 
it,  I  think,  for  he  would  not  give  me  the  gun.  1  had  no 
idea  he  would  accept  my  challenge,  but  I  stopped  his 
pretense  at  bravery  and  showed  him  to  be  exactly  the 
coward  that  he  was. 

When  we  reached  the  office,  Fish,  who  was  an  old- 
timer  at  the  business,  went  through  my  pockets.  He 
knew  just  where  to  lay  his  hand  to  get  my  money  and 
took  from  my  inside  vest  pocket  eighty  dollars  in 


THE  RETURN  TO  MISSOURI  213 

greenbacks,  but  before  he  did  this  he  made  my  brother 
leave  the  office  so  he  could  not  see  how  much  money 
he  took  from  me.  After  getting  my  money  he  turned 
me  into  the  jail  and  locked  me  in  a  cold  cell  without 
fire  or  blankets.  I  lay  on  the  cold  rocks  and  shivered 
all  night  with  my  finger  bleeding  on  me. 

Next  day  was  a  busy  one  for  Fish.  My  friends 
came  in  by  the  dozen  to  see  me  and  Fish  would  not  let 
them  talk  to  me  through  the  hole  in  the  wall  out  of  his 
presence,  so  they  kept  him  standing  by  most  of  the  day 
to  hear  what  was  said.  My  old  friend  Curl  came  in. 
He  asked  me  if  I  wanted  to  get  out.  I  told  him  I  thought 
I  would  get  out  in  a  short  time.  Curl  said,  "If  you  want 
out  today  I  will  go  and  get  enough  men  to  take  you 
out."  Fish  did  not  open  his  mouth,  but  I  told  Curl  I 
thought  I  had  better  wait  and  give  bond.  Shortly  after 
that  Judge  Parker,  who  stood  in  with  Fish,  fixed  my 
bond  at  twenty  thousand  dollars,  thinking,  I  suppose, 
that  I  could  not  give  it  and  that  I  would  have  to  lie  in 
jail  until  my  trial  came  off.  They  were  mistaken  in 
this.  I  gave  the  twenty  thousand  bond — and  could  have 
given  a  hundred  thousand  as  well — and  was  released.  I 
walked  down  town  and  presently  met  Fish.  He  ran  up 
and  shook  hands  with  me  as  though  he  was  greatly 
pleased  to  see  me,  and  said,  "I  thought  you  had  gone." 
I  said,  "No,  this  is  my  home  and  I  intend  to  remain 
here."  I  never  saw  Fish  after  that  that  he  did  not  go 
out  of  his  way  to  speak  to  me  and  shake  hands  with 
me.  I  knew  his  object  was  to  make  fair  weather  with 
me,  but  he  had  nothing  to  fear.  I  was  over  my  anger 
and  would  not  have  harmed  a  hair  of  his  head  so  long 
as  he  did  not  provoke  me  as  he  had  done  on  the  day  of 
my  arrest. 


214  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

After  meeting  Fish  I  went  on,  and  on  Third  Street 
I  met  two  policemen.  They  asked  me  to  go  into  a  sa- 
loon and  have  a  drink.  I  went  in  and  took  a  toddy  and 
while  there  one  of  them  slipped  a  Colt's  navy  in  my 
hand  and  told  me  to  protect  myself.  I  felt  much  safer 
with  such  and  old  acquaintance  with  me,  for  I  did  not 
know  when  some  of  my  old  war  enemies  might  under- 
take to  make  trouble  for  me. 

Two  indictments  were  pending  against  me — one 
for  horse  stealing  and  one  for  an  assault  upon  Fish 
with  intent  to  kill.  I  went  about  my  affairs  until  court 
convened.  On  the  morning  the  case  was  called  Fish 
and  Lemons  were  both  present.  I  went  in  and  sat  down 
very  close  to  them  and  where  I  could  look  directly  in 
their  faces.  Neither  of  them  would  look  at  me,  but  kept 
their  eyes  upon  the  floor  or  wandering  about  the  court 
room.  My  counsel,  Judge  Tutt,  took  a  change  of  venue 
and  the  cases  were  sent  to  Platte  City. 

Judge  Parker  gave  me  an  order  upon  Fish  for  my 
money  and  my  guns.  Brother  William,  who  had  re- 
turned from  the  west,  went  with  me  to  get  them.  We  got 
the  money  and  one  gun.  Fish  said  the  other  gun  had 
been  taken  to  Easton  by  one  of  his  deputies  and  that 
he  would  get  it  for  us  later.  In  a  few  days  William  and 
I  went  back  for  the  other  gun  and  on  our  way  to  the 
court  house  met  Fish,  hurrying  away  to  catch  a  train,  so 
he  said.  When  we  asked  him  about  the  gun  he  said  he 
would  not  stop  to  talk  to  us  as  he  was  in  a  great  hurry. 
William  told  him  he  would  stop,  that  he  came  for  that 
gun  and  intended  to  have  it.  Fish  insisted  that  he  did 
not  have  time  to  get  it  for  us.  William  said,  "time  or 
no  time,  we  will  have  that  gun  and  have  it  now !"  So  we 
turned  him  round  and  marched  him  to  the  court  house 
and  got  the  navy  and  told  him  he  might  then  go  to  his 
train. 


THE  RETURN  TO  MISSOURI  215 

Court  convened  in  Platte  City  in  May.  I  felt  sure 
that  neither  Fish  nor  Lemons  would  appear 
against  me.  Fish  had  said  that  he  had  found  a  man 
that  would  shoot  and  that  he  had  taken  desperate 
chances  in  attempting  to  arrest  me.  I  knew  he  was 
afraid  of  his  shadow  and  that  Platte  County  was  the 
scene  of  many  of  his  misdeeds  during  the  war.  As  for 
Lemons,  and  the  horse  stealing  charge,  I  felt  equally 
sure  there  would  be  no  prosecution,  but  on  the  day 
court  convened  I  went  down  prepared  for  trial.  I 
reached  Platte  City  the  day  before  the  case  was  to  be 
called.  I  met  the  sheriff  of  that  county  and  told  him 
about  my  case.  He  asked  me  who  the  sheriff  of  Buch- 
anan County  was,  and  when  I  told  him  he  said  Fish 
would  never  come  to  Platte  County;  that  he  had  done 
too  much  mischief  there  during  the  war,  hanging  and 
robbing  gray-haired  men. 

Next  morning  when  court  opened  I  walked  inside 
the  bar  and  directly  in  front  of  the  judge.  No  one  knew 
me.  The  judge  opened  his  docket  and  commenced  call- 
ing over  the  cases.  In  a  few  moments  he  called  my 
case  and  no  one  answered.  He  called  the  second  time 
and  I  arose  and  said,  "the  defendant  is  present  and 
ready  for  trial."  "Where  is  he?"  asked  the  judge.  "I 
am  the  man,"  said  I.  The  judge  then  asked  where  my 
counsel  was.  I  told  him  I  had  none;  that  Judge  Tutt  of 
St.  Joseph  had  promised  to  look  after  my  cases,  but  he 
had  not  yet  arrived.  The  judge  then  told  the  sheriff 
to  go  to  the  front  door  and  call  the  prosecuting  wit- 
nesses three  times.  The  sheriff  did  so  but  no  one  an- 
swered. The  cases  were  dismissed  and  I  was  released 
from  my  heavy  bonds  and  went  out  of  the  court  room  a 
free  man,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  my  good  friends, 
Matt  Evans,  Bennett  Reece,  Ham  Ray,  Tom  Finch  and 
others  who  had  gone  along  as  witnesses. 


216  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  PIONEER 

The  cases  were  dismissed  in  May,  1867.  I  came 
home  from  Platte  City  and  from  that  day  to  this  have 
never  heard  of  them.  Lemons  said  his  horse  was  taken 
from  the  stable  at  twelve  o'clock,  broad  daylight.  The 
truth  is  that  at  ten  o'clock  the  night  before  he  claimed 
his  horse  was  taken,  and  while  I  was  not  in  the  coun- 
try, that  same  man,  with  others,  led  away  from 
my  place  eleven  head  of  horses  and  mules  and  no  mem- 
ber of  my  family  ever  saw  them  again.  I  never  thought 
of  calling  them  to  account  for  it.  It  was  war  times, 
and,  after  the  war  was  over,  I  felt  too  thankful  to  have 
escaped  with  my  life  ever  to  attempt  to  hold  the  con- 
duct of  any  man  during  that  period  against  him. 

I  went  to  work  at  whatever  I  could  find  to  do  to 
make  an  honest  living.  All  my  toil  and  hardship  on  the 
plains,  by  which  I  had  accumulated  a  comfortable  for- 
tune before  the  war,  had  been  spent  in  vain,  and  I  had  to 
begin  anew  and  under  very  trying  conditions.  I  asked 
nothing  but  to  be  let  alone,  and  it  now  looked  as  if  this 
wish  of  my  heart  might  be  gratified. 

In  a  short  time  my  prospects  were  much  improved, 
and  on  the  25th  day  of  August,  1868,  I  was  married. 
Since  that  time  I  have,  aside  from  a  few  months  spent 
in  Colorado  during  the  early  eighties,  farmed  and 
dealt  in  cattle  in  Missouri  and  Nebraska.  I  own  the 
farm  on  which  I  live,  have  reared  my  children  to  matur- 
ity, and  educated  them  as  best  I  could,  and,  though 
often  lonely  when  I  think  of  my  brothers  and  compan- 
ions of  earlier  years,  I  am,  in  spite  of  my  eighty-three 
years,  enjoying  good  health  and  the  added  blessing  of 
many  friends. 

THE  END. 


